


Bed of Roses

by lc_writesnread



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Freddie Mercury - Fandom, John Deacon - Fandom, Queen (Band), brian may - Fandom, roger taylor - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-09-20 22:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 64,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17031207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lc_writesnread/pseuds/lc_writesnread
Summary: It's 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.





	1. Chapter 1 - Act One: Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. But for now, it’s a slow burner, mostly set up (that’s why there will be smut: that’s your payoff). I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the comments. PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STORY

**ACT ONE: DUSK**

_ Chapter 1 _

The only sound y/n could hear was the clicking of her boots in the cement. The streets were oddly quiet for a Saturday night, but you were not scared. You were still trying to figure London out, and incessant walking around whenever you were nervous would help. Because you have been nervous for most of the time since you moved here, even though now you were mostly disappointed.

You had just left a date with a guy you met at orientation. He was plain: freckly skin, brown hair, medium height. You would usually say that  _ sorry, but your grandma asked you to go to a book club meeting in that same night _ and  _ yeah, definitely let’s try to go out some other day _ , but your grandma was an ocean away, just like the rest of your family and everyone you knew. So you accepted his offer and went on a date with the guy.

Only to regret it immediately. He was trying to impress you with his money, talking about his family’s private  _ chateau _ in France, where he just spent the summer, and tales of his fancy private school days. You said you had to go to the restroom, but actually made your way to the kitchen and begged them to show you their back door.

And after coming out of the fancy neighbourhood the restaurant was in, you were walking through streets with tall business buildings that were completely dark and empty. You came from New York, one of the most violent cities in the world in 1971, so nothing London could offer would scare you.

You could, of course, go into the underground and figure out a way to your flat, or even get in a cab. But you liked the freedom of walking around aimlessly, trying to relieve your frustration with your terrible date, trying not to regret your recent life choices.

But the scenario soon changed. The streets were now filled with young people, and your outfit was now disappearing more easily in the crowd. Your new yorker style wasn’t really fitting with the preppy restaurant you were in, but that didn’t bother you as much. You didn’t belong to places like that. You knew that about yourself.

Now the streets are crowded with pubs, and music floats through the air, just like the cigarette smoke and the alcohol in the breath of the people around you. Someone tried to get your attention, but you didn’t really bother to look. You had already given up on finding someone you liked this evening.

And then, one of the songs in the air caught your attention. Even through the heavy pub door, you liked the way the music hummed through you. It made you feel warm in the cold September weather. You opened the door and found a crowded pub, the sound filling the place even more. You liked it.

You went to the bar and ordered a beer, feeling sort of embarrassed; brits were very fond of their beer, and you were still getting used to it’s taste. You used to drink back home, but usually cocktails or wine. But you crossed the ocean to find out more about yourself, and you were still trying to figure out if you actually enjoyed beer.

With your pint glass in hands, you started moving closer to the band, and paying more attention to the lyrics. They had just started performing another song.

_ Yesterday my life was in ruin _

_ Now today I know what I’m doing _

_ Gotta feeling I should be doing all right _

_ Doing all right _

But the band didn’t really looked alright. The singer was tense, just like the guitarist and the drummer. It could be their first show, but they sounded more experienced than that.

_ Where will I be this time tomorrow _

_ Jump in joy or sinking in sorrow _

_ Anyway I should be doing all right _

_ Doing all right _

You realised the drummer and the guitarist were exchanging looks, and the vocalist was visibly doing his best not to look at them. Then you realised the drummer and the guitarist were angry at the vocalist.

_ Should be waiting for the sun _

_ Looking round to find the words to say _

_ Should be waiting for the skies to clear _

_ There a time in all the world _

_ Should be waiting for the sun _

_ And anyway I’ve got hide away _

You were still curious at the band dynamic, but then you started to really look at the band members. The vocalist had a plain face and medium length hair, and he didn’t impress you at all. The guitarist was tall, and had long, luscious black curls. He looked very focused on his solo. And then he and the drummer started singing the harmony and you payed attention to the drummer.

He looked a bit paradoxical at first; his long, golden hair and his big blue eyes made him look angelical, but his aggressive posture towards the frontman, his strong arms and his frown while hitting the drums made you feel like he was not so innocent. He looked like the kind of guy who could make bad jokes and be a little late to your date, but you wouldn’t mind because he would make it worth it later. Far from boring.

_ Ah ah ah ah _

_ Yesterday my life was in ruin _

_ Now today God knows what I’m doing _

_ Anyway I should be doing all right _

_ Doing all right _

You’ve decided you’d try to talk to him after the show when he looked straight into your eyes, and his frown softened a bit. You raised your glass to your mouth and took a sip to hide the fact that you were blushing. “Dear God, he just looked at you. Relax. You’re looking like an insecure schoolgirl”, you thought to yourself.

_ Doing all right _

He was still looking at you when you lowered your pint and adjusted your posture to look more confident. Appreciating the effort you put in for your failed date, you hoped your low cut dress was making you look interesting. Maybe it was the alcohol kicking in, but you felt good about having his look on you for so long - even though it was only a few seconds, that’s still a lot of staring. So you raised your glass a bit in his direction, and smiled slightly at him. He gave you a quick smirk before looking back at the vocalist and frowning again. His posture tensed up. He was angry again.

That was their last song. They thanked the audience - apparently the band was called Smile, with Tim on the vocals and bass, Brian on the guitar and Roger on the drums. Roger. You liked the sound of his name. You went to order another beer as the band was setting their equipment, but they were taking too long. You were anxious, and you felt silly. First you go to a bad date trying to feel less lonely, and now you’re about to hit on a drummer - who probably has a bunch of groupies already waiting for him - for the same reason. You went to take another sip of your drink and realized it was empty.

You weren’t going to drink a third beer on an empty stomach, so you decided to go outside for a smoke. The cold weather would calm you down. And the band would eventually have to leave the pub. So you went in the direction of the front door when someone cursed loudly at the stage. It was the vocalist, Tim. He was arguing with the rest of the band, and then grabbed his coat and his bass - already in its case - and left. He almost bumped into you, and the drummer noticed that. He barely looked at you, an apologizing look in his eyes, and started to walk fast in your direction, his apologizing look losing its place to an angrier one. Still, he was walking in your direction, and that was your chance.

“I really liked your music and-” you were interrupted by his shoulder bumping into yours while he walked out of the pub, not even looking back and apologizing. You looked back at the guitarist, but he was already back at packing the rest of the instruments. You understood that he wasn’t going to wait for the drummer. For Roger.

You went outside, and looked around briefly to see if you could talk to him outside. Maybe he would apologize for bumping into you. Maybe you could actually talk to him. But he was nowhere to be seen.

You lit up your cigarette and started to smoke it, breathing it in, trying to calm yourself down. You felt pathetic. You were completely mesmerized by a guy who bumped into you and ignored you. He was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a slow burner, but a little less of a tease, I'd say. I hope you enjoy it! This inicial part has a lot of set up, but the payoff is coming. You'll see.

Your arms were filled with shopping bags as you made your way through Kensington Market. You've been living in London for almost five months now, and after a lonely Christmas night and a drunken New Years Eve (nothing like welcoming 1972 by being hungover), you decided you'd look more like a local young person.

And after asking a few of your colleagues, you found out that Kensington Market was the spot in London that catered to the bohemians and the hippies, to all the cool 70s kids. You didn't really felt like the people that you talked to were your friends, but it was better than having no one to talk. You missed the feeling of bonding with someone. But you were figuring out that you are, in fact, a bit of a loner, so here you were, in the excruciatingly cold January, shopping alone.

You always considered yourself a bit on the fashionable side - I mean, you're from New York. But the things people wore in London were never seen before by you. They were much more hippie-ish, less concerned about brands and fashion trends. You felt like they barely looked at the mirror after putting on a slightly androgynous outfit, the statement being "hey, I look really cool anyway". You crave that confidence. Maybe that's the true reason for you to be shopping here.

And you definitely found some interesting pieces of clothing - a lot of silky robes, some colorful mini skirts, vinyl boots. You were excited to wear these things, nothing like your casual, minimalistic approach to fashion.

A man with blonde, long hair ran into your shoulder, and took you out of your daydreaming about clothes. The man looked back and said "Sorry" before walking away, and you started to look around for more stalls with interesting clothes. That was a bit of a  _ deja vu _ , but sadly, this was not the drummer who bumped into your shoulder after making a long lasting impression. These man's eyes were brown, and he had very small lips. Not like your aggressive yet angelical drummer.

Roger. You didn't understand why, but even five months after the only time you saw him, you still caught yourself thinking about him quite oftenly. He never even said a word to you, but that didn't stop you from thinking about his baby blue eyes looking into yours from behind the drums, or the way his bare chest peeped from under his half unbuttoned shirt.

He didn't look like a nice guy - but maybe you were tired of guys that just looked nice. You were tired of their quiet small talk and drunken conversations, trying to brag and impress you when there's nothing really extraordinary about what they're saying. They didn't live their lives with passion, and it shows. You had a lot of issues, but at least you were passionate about things - hell, you moved to another country to study something you love. Anyway, you were still young. You weren't looking for the father of your children - at least, not yet. If there was a time in your life for liking guys that were not nice, this was it.

You kept an eye out for more Smile concerts, but they were gone. No show announcements on the cork bulletin boards throughout the campus, where most student bands would put flyers with their show dates. But you felt silly looking for him. And you felt even more silly when flashes of him would surprise you - it was especially embarrassing when you caught yourself thinking about his round, full lips frowning while going out with other men.

It was easier not to think of him when your time was consumed by going out with your colleagues or even school work, but sometimes he just showed up in your mind. So, in your free time, you looked for him, and even allowed yourself to really think about him when you were frustrated with the guys you were seeing. Once, after a guy you just met started talking about taking you to meet his family, you went home and opened the phone book, and was completely frustrated with how many Rogers there were. You didn't even knew his last name. Calling every Roger in London would be stalker behaviour, and that was definitely something you were not.

You thought about the day you were at the library trying to finish a paper, and decided you needed some distraction. In the unorganized pile of books that was closer to your table, left there by some other student, there was a book of name meanings. You didn't even think about checking yours. You opened the book and looked for Roger, the frustration in your poorly written paper - you were not inspired that morning - making you want to feel distracted by the memory of him, as if knowing the meaning of his name would make you closer to him again, the boy you don't even know the last name.

"Famous with the spear". That's what Roger meant. Spear. You felt like you were reaching, but you thought about how drumsticks look like small spears, and he was definitely destined to fame. You needed no more evidence for that statement but the way he kept creeping around your mind months after you saw him, especially in moments of frustration and vulnerability. You knew that only someone who was destined for bigger things could cause such an impact. He was magnetic.

And there was something else you avoided thinking about when you were frustrated, because it would only frustrate you even more. He was clearly not interested in you. He ignored you. Even if you saw him again, you wouldn't really do anything about it. You were pathetic, yes, but you wanted to keep your dignity. Most of the time.

The sight of an exquisite fur coat took you out of your daydreaming. It was sitting on a chair on a small stall, but it would look great on you, the caramel color would make your skin glow. So you entered the stall and was met with baby blue eyes.

As if conjured by your incessant mental dialogue, he was there. Roger. It was his stall, apparently, and he was coming towards you. You tried to hide your shock, but you were caught off guard. He was even prettier than you remembered, his relaxed posture and open button up made him look like the most confident man you've seen.

"Hey, how can I help you?", he said, before actually taking a look at you. His face clicked - as if he recognized you. "Oh, shit. You were in our last Smile gig, right? I'm so sorry for bumping into you. Do you want something to drink? I've felt guilty for bumping into a pretty girl and not apologizing for months", he said, with the same smirk he gave you from behind the drums.

You were trying not to look stupid, so you quickly said "Hey, it's alright. I'll accept something to drink right after you sell me that coat", a smile on your lips. He smelled different from all the other guys you went out with - something natural, but still masculine, maybe patchouli, with the smell of cigarette smoke also around him. It was a bit intoxicating, or maybe it was the fact that he was standing so close to you, not the least bit annoyed - he seemed interested, actually. He looked at your body, checking you out discreetly. You could feel the heat coming from his body. His presence was distracting, it almost felt like your body was buzzing in response to it.

Maybe you could actually talk to him. You were thinking about him for months - feeling pathetic that you couldn't forget about a guy who never even spoke to you - but he was here now, and his raspy voice was talking to you, apologizing for not giving you attention the first time you met, saying that you're pretty. You would feel less pathetic if he kept haunting your thoughts now. At least now there's more material for you to daydream about.

And you were never really one to believe in the power of belief itself; you know, that story that maybe if you think hard enough about something, if you wish it happens from the bottom of your heart, it will happen eventually. But when Roger said "Sure, what's your name?" with a big smile on him - and he looked even better when he smiled - you thought you could become a believer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just found out I actually enjoy writing dialogue?? Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It’s a small bit of payoff for the two chapters of set up. And there’s much more to come!

“Y/N”, you told him. “Y/N. Nice.” you liked the way your name sounded in his voice. You were getting used to the way it was pronounced with a british accent, but it sounded more interesting when he said it; more exotic. “I’m Roger. Roger Taylor.” he said as you extended your hand for him to shake. He seemed a bit confused, but did the same. “You shake hands”, he observed with a smile on his lips.

“I shake.” You said, then laughed. You felt a bit stupid, but you were still used to shaking hands, and that was not a habit you wanted to let go. His hand was callous, warm and much bigger than yours. You liked the way it felt. “Strong grip for someone not used to shaking hands”, you said with a chuckle.

“Probably because of the drums. I have strong hands”, he said, without thinking much, but then realised the opportunity to make it an inappropriate comment, and gave you a wink. You laughed a bit more; it felt good to be around him. He really was magnetic.

“I thought so”, you said, ironically winking back. “I already knew your name, too, from the show” you said, trying to get him to talk about the band. You wanted to know more about them. Why did they disappear? But you also just wanted to hear him talk more; his raspy voice and his accent made everything sound like a secret shared between the two of you.

“Oh, right. Sorry again. It was a rough night; our vocalist told us he was quitting right before the show, just so he could avoid having to really talk to us about it. So we were really mad that day. Still should’ve apologized, though”, he said, a shy smile on him.

“It’s okay. Maybe I shouldn’t have been on the way”, you said, smiling back. You were smiling most of the time, really. It just felt good to imagine that maybe he thought about you as well. “So that was the reason I couldn’t attend another Smile gig? The band is over?”, you asked.

“Sort of. We got ourselves a new frontman; Freddie, and he changed the name of the band. He owns this stall with me, too. Said he should be back soon- Wait. You wanted to go to another Smile show?” he asked, putting some of his weight on the desk where the register sat. He looked so comfortable and relaxed, and this look suited him, too. Even though the concentrated frown he had when playing the drums still held a place in your heart.

“I do! I was on your way out because I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed the show”, you said, and he smiled a bit more. “Well, you can come see Queen. That’s the new name of the band”, he informed you, a bit of annoyance passing through his face. “I’m not the biggest fan of the name, but I think we sound good. We’re looking for a bassist now, but it’s a bit hard to find someone who plays well and has a decent personality at the same time. Bri, Freddie and I… we all got big egos. Yeah, that’s a way of saying it, I guess”, he rubbed his nose and looked down, thinking about what he just said, then laughed. “God, you’ll think I’m an asshole. You met me when I was rude to you, and now I’m here saying I’m egotistical”, he laughed a bit, looking into your eyes. Almost as if he wanted confirmation that you still thought he was interesting.

And of course you confirmed it.

“Well, I appreciate your honesty”, you laughed, too. His shoulders relaxed even more. “So, how long have you been playing the drums?” you asked, at the same time he asked “So, where are you from?”. You both laughed, and he asked you to answer first, but you said your question probably had a more interesting answer, and ironically batted your lashes at him while saying a long “Please”, putting your weight on the same desk as he, your own hand cupping your face as you leaned against the desk.

“Ok, then. I played the guitar and the ukelele when I was really young, but then I started playing the drums because they just made more sense to me. Taught myself how to play the drums, you know” he said, raising his brows. He knew it was something that would impress you, but he also didn’t take it really seriously; he was making fun of himself, in a way.

“Well, I’m impressed. See, I was right! Your answer was more interesting”, you say, raising your eyebrows back at him. “So was Smile your first band?”, you asked.

“Hey, I already answered your question. Now is time for you to answer mine”, he said through a smile. “But I was right about the answer! C'mon. Let me have this one, too”, you said jokingly, a pout on your lips.

“Well, I can’t disagree with your logic or your pout”, he said, leaning a bit more into your direction. “Smile was not my first band. I used to play in Cornwall, too - where I came from, before London”, he explained gesturing a bit, his hand accidentally hitting your shoulder ever so slightly. You like his touch. “It did quite well, actually. We had bookings all over the country”, he said, his eyes more distant as he lost himself in memories. “There was this one place we played almost every Saturday, built on the site of an ancient tin mine. It was technically full of ghosts. I used to not believe in ghosts; especially when we were playing and the club was full of people. But late at night, after it closed, it was pretty scary. We all packed our instruments really fast, but we never spoke about why we did it. It was like a silent agreement”, he chuckled. “I spoke too much. Where are you from, Y/N?”, he said, leaning in even more in your direction, looking into your eyes. You could swear you felt his fresh breath against your cheeks. He was close.

“I’m from New York”, you said. “What gave it away? The accent or the attitude?”, you asked, smiling. “Your attitude, at first, even though the accent confirms it. You seem distracted, like you’re always thinking about something more important than what’s happening around you. People in London usually just try to avoid being in each other’s way”, he smirked at you.

“So that’s how you do it! I’ll definitely try it out”, you smirked back. “I’m trying make it less obvious that I’m not from here. It’s one of my New Year resolutions. Actually, that’s what brings me to Kensington Market. I’m trying to adopt some of the british fashion trends”, you say, an ironic grin plastered across your face.

“I think you already look interesting enough, but I wouldn’t pass the opportunity of seeing you in a miniskirt”, he smirked again. “Well, then you might be pleased with my new clothes”, you smirked back. It was such an obvious flirt fest that it was nearly ironic; there was truth in it, but it was wrapped in exaggeration. Almost as if you were trying to outflirt each other.

“Actually, that’s what brought me to your stall, as well. I really want that fur coat”, you said, moving away from him to grab the coat. You had to hold a sigh; it felt good to be so close to him, but you didn’t want him to think you really were just there to see him, when that wasn’t the case. I mean, were you thinking about him right before you entered the stall? Yeah, but that’s not the point.

“Sure, I’ll make a special price for my New York girl”, he said, moving behind the register and telling you the price of the coat. “I don’t know if I’d move out of there if I was lucky enough to be born in a big city. What brings you to London?”, he asked as you payed for the coat.

“Ancient History. I study it at UCL”, you answered. “Well, I’d love to talk more about it. Do you want to go for a drink? I mean, as soon as my mate returns”, he invites you.

But it’s late, and you need to finish your papers, since most of them are due tomorrow. You explain that to him, and he says he understands. You leave the stall after saying a goodbye and a nice to meet you.

And you immediately regret it. You can be late on your papers for once. Or at least get his phone number so you can go out for a drink later. You’re almost out of the market, but you don’t want to lose contact with Roger. So you turn around, about to make your way back to his stall, and you’re surprised to see him. He’s running in your direction and says your name loudly just to make sure he has your attention.

When he reaches you, he puts his hand on your shoulder, and you bite your lip. You’re too attracted to him not to crave more of his touch. “Hey, I actually made a mistake”, he says, a little bit out of breath. You furrow your brows, curious. “The coat. I was too distracted by you and didn’t realise it was actually my friend’s. I’m sorry, but I can’t sell his coat. You know, I need to avoid fighting with him, gotta keep the band together long enough for you to watch us”, he said, winking at you.

“Sure”, you laughed, and gave him the coat. “Here’s your money, and I also my phone number, you know, just in case it comes in handy. I felt bad when I imagined you without your hip London coat, doing schoolwork alone. Maybe it will give you a reason to be excited for tomorrow, when you call me so we can go out for a drink”, he says, a genuine smile on his face.

“Well, now aren’t you conceited?”, you both laughed. “It will come in handy. See you tomorrow, then”, you said, and he said “See you”, his smile still on his face, and turned around to walk back to his stall.

You turned around and left Kensington Market right as it started to rain. The raindrops were too cold for you to walk around without an umbrella, so you got in a cab, and spent the whole time thinking about destiny, how it united you with the guy that haunted your thoughts for the last few months. You wondered if maybe you found out more about yourself today: you believed in destiny.

And you were still lost in thoughts about destiny and Roger when the driver pulled up in front of your flat, and you were too distracted to notice that along with the money you gave him to pay for your ride, there was a small piece of paper with Roger Taylor’s phone number on it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I do enjoy writing dialogue, then. We also get a bit of insight to Roger’s mind, which was very fun to write, and we get a small bit of payoff, too. Just so you guys get ready for what’s to come… Anyway, now we’re officially™ into the final half of the first act, which means we’re 1/6 of the story in. Thank you again for reading it! I’m so happy you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

**ACT ONE: DUSK**  
“Everything is getting settled for what happens at night. It’s time for anticipation. The hour of the day when you feel the potential in the air.”

 

_Chapter 4_

You woke up the next morning still relaxed and a bit excited for the day ahead. As you got some up, you decided to put Roger’s number closer to the phone, so you could call him as soon as you got home from today’s class. You changed your schedule during midterms - the class you were getting some science credits from was too hard, so you changed to Anatomy 101, and it was now your first class of the day. It was also your first day at Anatomy, but you didn’t think you’d be learning much. You were probably going to spend the whole day thinking about going out with Roger.

You opened your bag and started to look for the small paper with his number, but as seconds passed by, you started to get more desperate. When was the last time you saw it? You started to scan your memories from yesterday. He gave you his number along with the money for the jacket, which you put on your wallet. As you opened your wallet, you realised you used the money to pay for the cab. The paper was probably in the cabbie’s wallet, if he didn’t already noticed it and threw it in the trash.

“Well, so much for believing in destiny”, you said to yourself, and then cursed as you emptied your bag just to be sure the paper wasn’t there. It wasn’t. “Fuck”, you said, and realised your throat was dry. You needed some coffee, and you needed to get ready for class.

So you got ready, barely looking at the clothes you were picking up. You only noticed you were wearing all black once you were on your way to your class. _At least it matches my mood and my luck_ , you thought. No cool, Kensington Market clothes for you today.

You were already at your classroom and grabbing a seat when you thought about going back to his stall after class. You were afraid it would be closed, or that you’d look desperate. You thought that maybe you should play a little hard to get, but quickly dismissed it. You didn’t see the guy for five months, and now you lost his number. Maybe destiny isn’t going to help you out with this guy, but you’re going to do anything in your power to get what you want.

Roger was walking to class, cursing himself as usual for changing his subject of study to Biology, and having his schedule completely messed up because of that. He was supposed to be graduating from Dentistry, but here he was, about to go have Anatomy 101.

At least he was going out with the New York girl tonight. Y/N. If she called. But he hoped she would; she looked interested, at least. He usually liked when girls played a bit hard to get, but he didn’t mind her flirting back at him, not blushing at every word he said. He actually enjoyed it. She seemed confident in her own skin.

The girls he went out with usually played hard to get to look more interesting, more mysterious. She didn’t have to do that, since she was already interesting, so casual and, for the lack of a better word, chic. He knew she had money from the moment he saw her, everything about her being so well taken care of, her perfect smile, with pearly white teeth, her shiny hair, her body. She looked like the type of person who ate healthy and exercised her whole life.

And yet, she didn’t seem too impressed with herself. She didn’t speak like someone who thought was above others; actually, she tried to understand their ways, and was open for trying different stuff. And that was just the psychological stuff about her that he kept thinking about after talking to her, the part of her he didn’t really understand, the mystery.

Her body was phenomenal, just like her face. She caught his attention when she was just standing in the crowd, her red lips a bit open as she payed attention to the performance, her head moving to the sound of the music. And then she lifted her beer a bit, as if she knew he was watching her and appreciated it, almost ironic, and he though _Guess who I’m seeing later_ when he remembered that he still had to deal with Tim quitting the band.

He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her when he saw her in Tim’s way out, only now realising that besides her face, her body was also incredible. She wasn’t plain skinny; she had curves, her silky dress hugging them slightly, her black boots covering part of her thighs, and he was even angrier at Tim for quitting the band that night.

When he heard her soft voice, an american accent grabbing even more his attention, he nearly forgot about Tim. But he couldn’t. Tim was already out of the bar, and it wouldn’t take long to lose sight of him. He had to hurry.

But he thought about you later that night, once he was back at his flat, calling one of his regular groupies, telling her to come over. He thought about your red lips when he got close to the girl, about to kiss her.

He thought about you sometimes, the girl he couldn’t talk to, the girl Tim’s exit took away from him. He had flashes about the curve of your waist under that silky dress when he grabbed another girl by their waist. He could almost hear your voice, once, when he went out with an american. Her voice wasn’t as soft, though. He felt a bit weird when those flashes happened, like invasive _deja vus_ of the girl he never had.

So when he realised you entered his stall on a lazy Sunday evening, it was actually by looking at your lips. They were distracting, really, but he didn’t want to look like a creep, so he forced himself to avoid looking at your lips the entire time you were talking. Just some of it.

And not only was your voice as soft as he remembered, but you were funny, and you looked confident. Not cocky. You seemed comfortable in his presence, even when he was flirting with you. Maybe especially then. You were comfortable in being attracted to him, and that’s what really got to him.

So when he finally got into the classroom - late, as usual - and saw your soft hair and the delicate curve of your shoulders, he thought that maybe he was just hallucinating. He never saw you before in that class, but at least he wouldn’t have to wait for your call. Then he noticed the empty seat by your side, and with a smirk on his lips, he went for it.

“Now that’s a weird coincidence. Maybe you could borrow me a pencil?”, a raspy voice said by your side. You jumped a bit out of surprise - you were completely absorbed in thinking about an excuse to go to Roger’s stall today, and then you heard his voice. It was him, his face looking a bit sleepy, sitting right next to you, his smell invading your brain and making you a bit confused.

“I didn’t expect to see you so early in the morning today”, you answered, a small smile on your lips. His presence lifted your mood completely. “I didn’t expect to see you in this class at all. Ancient History, wasn’t it? Why are you in Anatomy? Not that I’m complaining”, he said, his smirk still there.

“I need some science creds, and Anatomy seemed easy. What are you doing here? I didn’t even knew you went to school. Just thought you played drums and prepared to be a rockstar full time”, you said, smirking back at him as the guy in front of you turned around and said “Shh”. You and Roger ignored him without a second thought.

“I actually planned on being a dentist my whole life”, he said, and you laughed a bit. “A dentist? In the UK? I thought you guys didn’t really care about your teeth here. But I guess your smile looks healthy enough”, you teased him a bit.

“Well, thank you. Can you smile at me so I can check yours before telling you the same thing? Just to be sure”, he said, and you flashed him a big, ironic smile. “It certainly looks healthy. But I guess if your teeth aren’t perfectly aligned and as white as possible, they take away your american citizenship. Or so I’ve heard”, he teased you back, and you laughed as the guy in front of you said “Shh” again, looking angrily at the both of you. Roger said “Shh” back at him, and you laughed a bit more.

“So, are you gonna be a dentist, then? Is the drummer thing just a side job for your real dream of becoming dr. Taylor?”, you asked, a bit ironic, but also wanting to know more about him. He liked that you seemed to really care, not just making small talk in order to flirt with him. You leaned into him as you spoke, and he noticed your smell. You didn’t even smell like the girls he usually went out with, who smelled of roses and flowers. Your perfume was more fruity, like peaches and cherries. You smelled good enough to eat. He was looking at your lips.

But you were waiting for his answer, so he forced himself to focus, and look back at your eyes. “As soon as I started dentistry, I realized I only wanted to move to London. School was just an excuse. But dentistry took too much of my time, so I changed it to Biology, just so my parents can still see me with a degree and stuff. They really care about me getting a degree, just to be sure”, he said, a smile as he thought about his family.

“Do you miss them?” you said. Your voice sounded different - not flirty of fun, as it was before. It seemed a bit more urgent, a bit lower. He realized that you could relate to him missing his family, since your own family was an ocean away.

“Yeah, every time I think about them”, he said, his voice lower and raspier. You felt a shiver up your neck. His voice sounded so intimate. “But I don’t regret moving out. I wouldn’t be happy there, and it wouldn’t be fair to them or to me, staying in a city where I wouldn’t have the opportunities I wanted, being unsatisfied with my life, just so I could be closer to them”, he said, and looked into your eyes. You smiled.

“I really understand that feeling. You put it in words better than I ever did”, you told him. He gave you a genuine smile, and you looked into his blue eyes. Distracting. Your moment was interrupted by the guy in front of you two. “Can you two shut the fuck up?” he said, his voice sounding aggressive. You almost laughed at such anger so early in the morning.

“I guess you like theoretical Anatomy way too much, mate. Maybe if you got some practical experience more often, you wouldn’t be this angry”, Roger answered, then turned to you. “Do you wanna go out for a smoke? This class is a bore anyway”.

You agreed, and you both grabbed your stuff and left. You could feel Roger’s hand in the small of your back as he guided you outside, and a small smile formed on your lips. You couldn’t see it, but he was smiling, too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The payoff has just BEGUN. This was so nice to write and I’m excited for what’s to come… Hope you guys are too! And I’d just like to take a moment and thank you guys for the amazing comments - I’m so glad your enjoying Bed of Roses as much as I am! Interacting with you guys as you go through Bed of Roses with me is incredible :)

**ACT ONE: DUSK**  
“Everything is getting settled for what happens at night. It’s time for anticipation. The hour of the day when you feel the potential in the air.”

 

 

_Chapter 5_

As soon as you were outside, you could feel a shiver through your body. You weren’t sure if it was the cold, hitting you hard, your sweater not being able to protect you from it, or if it was Roger’s proximity to you. You leaned into the wall as you started to look for a cigarette on your bag, but Roger’s hand appeared in your field of vision, a cigarette between his long fingers, an offer. You accepted it with a smile. “Thanks, Roger”, you told him. He answered with a smile, too. “You’re welcome, Y/N”, he said. You watched him twirl his cigarette between his fingers before putting it between his lips. You put your own between your lips as you started to roam through you bag again, now looking for a lighter.

It wasn’t necessary, though. Roger extended his hand in your direction, a lighter in his hands, and you gave him a quick smile, the cigarette hanging from your lips, as you leaned closer to the flame. He kept his eyes on yours as he lit the cigarette.

You leaned back into the wall, your body turned to the street, as you gave a small puff. He lit his own cigarette, also leaning against the wall, but his body was turned to you. You looked into his direction only to find him checking you out, his eyes roaming through your body. He smirked once he realized you noticed it.

“Nice view”, he said, and you both laughed. It was, indeed, a nice view. You looked almost mystical, wearing all black, a tight turtleneck sweater that hugged your curves paired with a short tennis skirt that made it hard for him not to touch you right now. Your sheer black tights and black boots completed the look and reinforced his desire to push you against the wall and make out with you right there.

But it was your eyes, glimmering from behind the smoke, that made you look like an entity, more than human. The sight of the cigarette, moving between your delicate fingers and your full, pink lips also made it hard for him to try to continue the conversation you were having inside.

He didn’t know it, but he was making it hard for you to focus, too. His hair seemed messier, the more messy you’ve ever seen, and your hands itched of desire to grab his hair, tangling your fingers in the strands on the base of his neck and pulling them as you moved him closer to you. His cigarette was hanging from his lips, and he was with yet another button up with the first buttons open. You wondered if he would feel cold, but you doubted; a fur coat was covering his torso, making he look even more like a rockstar, completely out of place in the boring brown bricks of the college.

“Well, it really is a nice view”, you answered, making sure he noticed you were checking him out, too. You both laughed, the sight of his smile through the smoke accompanied by a sudden cold wind making you visibly shiver. He noticed that, and started taking his coat off.

“You don’t have to-”, you started saying as he putted his coat around your body. “I know I don’t have to. I want to. Also, I feel like I owe you a coat”, he said, and moved away from you a little, enough to check how you looked in his coat.

“Perfect. But maybe you want to go for a pub, so you don’t have this cold wind hitting your face? Or your legs” He said, and you laughed a bit. “Sure. It would be nice to get our drinks already, since I just found out I lost your number”, you said, and he scoffed.

“I guess I shouldn’t be offended, but I am a bit. How’d you lose it so fast?” He said, a small pout on his lips. You had to hold yourself not to lean in and kiss him.

“I think I gave it along with the money to pay for the cab. I’m sorry, but if you really think about it, it’s a bit on you, too. You make me distracted”, you said. “Is that so? I must admit I find you a quite distracting as well”, he said as he extended his hand for you to hold. “There’s a pub nearby we can go. It wouldn’t shock me if it was already open”, he said, a smirk on his lips. You held his hand. “Sure, let’s go”. You could miss class if it meant you would spend more time with him, touch him more. His hand was warm and big, contrasting against your cold, small one.

“So, why’d you come here to study? I’m still confused about what would make a person leave New York. Isn’t there Ancient History there?”, he asked, as you started walking. “There is. But I want to work at the British Museum, and it’s easier to do that if I’m already around”, you tell him.

“I have a bit of a hard time imagining you behind an office door at a museum everyday”, he said. “Looking the way you do, you could do anything else”, he completed.

“Thank you, but I won’t look like this forever. But most important, history is fascinating. It helps us understand, as a civilization, who are we and why are we living like this right now. And it’s only through understanding and protecting the artifacts that come from those ancient times that this is possible; they’re the material evidence of what we read in old texts. It’s essential, as a society, to now what’s true and what’s not about our past. Without history, we’re more easily manipulated. Have you read 1984?”, you said, looking back at him and being met with another one of his genuine smiles.

“No. I didn’t know you were such a nerd”, he laughed, and you laughed along. “But I like it. It sort of reminds me of Brian - you know, the guitarist. He was part of Smile, too”, he said, and you shook your head yes. “He’s a genius. Just like you”, he completed, his smile getting even bigger.

“Well, thank you”, you said, the first time you blushed at something he said. He noticed that. “You look cute when you blush”, he commented. “So, we’re here”, he said, and dropped your hand so he could open the door for you.

You both moved across the nearly empty pub - it was before lunch - and sat at the bar. He ordered to beers for the two of you. “So, British Museum. That’s the reason for you to be here?”, he said, going back to the conversation you were having outside.

“Yeah, but it’s not the only reason. I grew up in New York, always surrounded by my family and people who knew me my whole life. But still, I never felt like I completely fit it - maybe it was my neighbourhood, as well. Upper East Side is pretty preppy. I came here because I want to be alone, too. To figure out who I am when there’s no one else around me. To see if I find a place where I belong”, you said, and took a sip of your drink before looking back at him. “Sorry for the monologue, I guess”, you laughed, and he accompanied you.

“I enjoyed it. You’re interesting enough to monologue as much as you like to me”, he said. The bar was warm, so you started taking his coat off and put it in the bar stool by your side, along with your bag. When you looked back at Roger, you noticed he was watching you.

He really enjoyed seeing you in his clothing, but now he remembered why it was so hard to focus on talking to you when you were smoking. He kept thinking about your legs, how he would grab your tights from under your skirt and slowly slide them down your thighs, placing slow kisses on the inside of them, and then do the same to your underwear. He’d sit you somewhere before going down on his knees and finally tasting you.

And by the look of desire in your eyes, you were thinking about him as well. You were thinking about finally undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt, the feeling of his warm skin under your fingers as you kissed his torso on your way down on him.

But you were both interrupted by the only other person in the bar leaving through the front door, and the sound of barman going inside the kitchen. The pub was silent, but you both could feel a buzz through your bodies. You both wanted to touch each other, but none of you took initiative.

So you started talking again. “I’ve been here for a while, but I still think it’s funny how brits like to drink. It’s before noon and the pub is already open”, you chuckled, and he accompanied you, but he looked a bit uncomfortable as he put his hands on his legs, and you took another sip of your drink when realizing one of the possible reasons for that.

“Yeah, we’re a bit heavy on our alcohol on this side of the ocean”, he said, a small smile on his lips as he drank some more. “Are you already used to it?”, he asked you.

“I mean, I’m way better then when I got here. Now I actually enjoy the taste of beer; I didn’t before”, you said, and he gasped. You laughed a bit, spilling some beer down your chin.

“I get too clumsy when I’m around you”, you said, and he smiled when he looked at you. He leaned closer into you as he extended his hand, caressing your chin with his thumb as he wiped the leftover beer. He was so close to you; you could see his pores, his pupils dilating. His smell filled your breath, making you feel more intoxicated than any drunk.

You only realised you were leaning into him when you could see, in detail, his lips as he sighed. “You’re so beautiful”, he said, a barely audible whisper, and you crashed your lips onto his.

You could feel him smiling through the kiss, and you smiled back as you finally wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck with one hand, pulling him even closer to you, your other hand on his jaw. You felt his strong grip on your waist, pulling your body onto his, as his other hand went up your back and onto your hair, his fingers wrapping around the strands. You finally felt his tongue on yours as you both deepened the kiss at the same moment.

The hand that was on your waist went down your ass and under your thigh, making you stand up. He stood up with you, pressing you against the bar, lifting your thigh so it would sit around his hip, the thin fabric of your clothes serving as the only barrier between the two of you as he pressed his hips onto yours. You held a moan when you felt him against you.

You moved both your hands to his hair, pulling at it, when you broke the kiss, trying to get some air at the same time you started kissing the skin at his jaw, and moving down as you started to suck on the skin in his neck, probably leaving marks.

Your breath was a mix of the breath that left his lips and his smell, the only taste you felt was his lips and skin, the only thing you felt was his body, the only thing you saw was closeups of him - his jaw, his eyes - and the only thing you could hear was his heavy breathing. He had invaded all of your senses, filling you in almost every way, except one.

He must have been thinking about that, too, because he pulled you away from his neck so he could look at you - trying not to be distracted by the sight of you, your swollen lips, your rosy cheeks, your dilated pupils - as he said “The barman will be back at any second. My place or yours?”, and you just shrugged, a smirk on your lips, and he said “My place, then”, putting some money on the counter and guiding you out of the bar, holding tight to your waist as he pressed a kiss on top of your head.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so I don’t spoil anything, I’m just gonna say that I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! lol. Thank you for taking your time to read it. I love to see you guys response to it, so keep telling me what you think in comments!

_ Chapter 6 _

You were walking around London again, back in your old ways. But this time, you’re not alone. By your side, holding your hand, in black leather pants and a loose maroon shirt, is Roger. It’s been a month since the first time you kissed.

And it’s been exciting, so far. You’re both still fascinated by each other, that phase in a relationship where the other person says something funny or smart and you just think F _ uck, I can’t believe I found you. There’s a world full of people and we managed to meet _ because everything is still so intense. It wouldn’t be correct to say that you were both seeing each other through rose colored glasses; no, your glasses oversaturated everything. Your cute moments were really cute, but your rough, sexual moments were the rougher you’ve ever had.

You thought to yourself months ago that Roger would be good in bed; it was, in fact, one of the first things you thought about him. And you were right. But he also had a soft, domestic side you didn’t really expected, but enjoyed. You could be riding him, his hand bruising your buttcheeks as he slapped your ass, your voice raspy as you moaned his name, at 9pm, and at 10 you’d both be on his living room, the TV turned on, you finishing a book for class, drinking a cup of tea he made you, trying to convince you to have it with milk “as british people would”, and he’d be with his head on your lap, half asleep, his eyes staring at the TV as you ran your fingers through his hair.

Now you were both on your way to an empty classroom in Imperial College. Roger invited you to watch Queen rehearse, and you were excited. You were seeing each other nearly every day, and you spent time together even when doing everyday stuff; you’d even spent some afternoons on his stall in Kensington, trying to finish a paper as you both talked about your childhoods, your first times, what music he was listening to. You’d stop when a customer got in, and if it was a woman, she would usually hit on him, and you’d wink at him when he looked at you, trying to see if you were annoyed or jealous.

But you weren’t - it was almost something that made you proud, because you were once another customer flirting with him, but it was you that he would fuck later that night, and it was you he called when he felt stressed after a bad writing session with the band, his voice tense as he asked you to talk about your day or which songs were playing in your prom, anything that could distract him.

You didn’t officialize your relationship, there was no binding, no promise of exclusivity, but you were spending so much time together that you doubted he was seeing anyone else. But him taking you to a rehearsal made you wonder if he planned to make it more serious. The rehearsals were one of the only moments you didn’t spend together.

You were both at his couch, him only in his boxers, you wearing just panties and one of his button ups, sharing a cigarette and watching Doctor Who, when he told you about the rehearsal the next day. “Sure”, you said, thinking he was subtly telling you that he wouldn’t be able to see you the next afternoon. “Do you want to come? I know it’s not a show, so I understand if you want to skip. But I think we’ve been sounding really good; we have this new bass player, and he’s the best we’ve had so far-” and he continued to talk about how you could actually enjoy the rehearsal, and you realised he was rambling. He was nervous, for some reason. You thought that maybe this was a big step for him.

“Of course I’ll go. I’ve been dreaming about you banging those drums for months, you know. That’s my chance”, you said, and you could see his shoulders relaxing. “Good. I hope I give you some more material for when you’re alone”, he said, and grabbed the cigarette from your fingers.

“I don’t know why you like this. It used to be better a few years ago, when the Doctor travelled around galaxies and stuff. Now he’s stuck on Earth”, he complained, and stretched his legs over the coffee table. “I like the way he speaks. I think it’s pretty soothing. And I like his companion, Jo Grant. She looks cool”, you said, leaning onto his shoulder.

“But she’s not really smart, though. The one before her, Liz Shaw, was smarter, but still looked cool. I recently found out I like girls that can do both”, he said, wrapping his arms around you. “And why is that?”, you asked, but you knew the answer. “Well, I think you raised my standards”, he answered with a chuckle. “You’re such a flirt”, you said, and kissed his neck.

“Shit, I marked you again”, you realised. “It’s okay. It really goes with the rockstar look, don’t you think? I like it”, he answered, and started to pay attention to the show again. You always left love marks on each other; sometimes you wondered if it was really by accident. You thought once that maybe you left marks on each other’s skin the same way a kid would write his name on his favourite toy; maybe if you lost touch again, it would be easier to re encounter, since there was evidence you belonged to one another, at least for a small period of time.

Your arrival at the college made you wake up from your daydreaming. You’ve been silent for the last few minutes, and Roger was humming a song to himself. The silent wasn’t uncomfortable; you were now used to being around each other, and sometimes you were quiet, just enjoying being together.

He moved his hand to the small of your back as he guided you to the classroom Brian got for them to rehearse. He seemed a bit nervous, so you stopped yourself from making any snarky remarks. And you arrived at the classroom.

You could recognize two of the man standing in the room; the first was Brian, who you still remembered from the only time you watched Roger perform, and the other was Freddie, who you met in your afternoons at Kensington. The other one seemed younger than you, his long brown hair covering some of his face. Roger said it took some time for him to feel comfortable around people he didn’t knew, and you respected that.

“Hey, Y/N. Good to see that you and Roger stopped fucking like rabbits enough for you to catch a rehearsal” Freddie said, coming closer and hugging you. “Maybe you should start the sexual jokes after I’m introduced to the rest of band?”, you joked, and Roger laughed along with the others.

“So Y/N, this is Brian, he’s the only person I know that is as smart as you”, Roger said, holding your waist as you both walked closer to the tall guitarist. “Well, thank you, Roger” Brian said, and Roger mumbled “Don’t get used to it” the same time Brian said “Nice meeting you, Y/N. So you’re the reason Roger’s mood been sucking less recently?”, and you laughed. “I don’t know, he’s been nothing but a ray of sunshine ever since I first saw him. Nice meeting you too”, you said, both of you teasing Roger.

“And this is Deacy, the bass player”, he said, at the same time he said “Hey” to you. “Hey, Deacy”, you answered, and Roger took you to one of the chairs, all in one side of the room, and set in a way you could enjoy the band as if it was a private show.

“I hope you like it” he said, leaning closer to your lips. “I’m gonna love it”, you said, leaning in and giving him a peck on the lips.

And you did. You recognized “Doing Alright”, the only song you really watched them perform, and they were all in tune, no pauses for adjustments in the middle on the song. Then there was a few others you didn’t know, but you enjoyed them as well; they sounded experimental, but the songs also had something epic in them - you felt like they would be appropriate as soundtracks for movies, the amount of world building potential in them surprising you. There was a song that encapsulated that feeling, something about Seven Seas, but they could barely play it; Freddie was always unsatisfied with the way it sounded. “It’s not ready yet, darling”, he told you as Brian tried to play the guitar the way he wanted.

Roger looked especially hot when playing a song you supposed was called Keep Yourself Alive, judging by the way the phrase was repeated in the chorus. There was a small drum solo, his concentrated frown during it making you want to fuck him right there, and when he sang the phrase “Do you think you’re better every day?”, he looked at you, and you smirked at him.

His rockstar façade was so casual and devil-may-care that it was driving you mad. You kept biting your lips every time you started to really pay attention at Roger, and you were reminded of how he could make such a long lasting impression on you just by playing the drums.

And by the time they were playing the last song in the setlist, an impeccable cover of Jailhouse Rock, you were turned on. Roger’s chest was glimmering with sweat, just like it would when you had sex, and you crossed your legs, trying to distract yourself - look at Freddie singing, look at Brian playing the guitars, look at Deacy and his bass, look at anything but Roger. You technically still had to get home before being able to do anything about it.

So after they were done, Roger got up as you did the same, the both of you meeting in front of his drum kit. “Did you like it?” he asked, still a bit out of breath. “I loved it”, you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a quick kiss on his lips. “You guys were amazing. When is the next show?”, you asked, now talking to the rest of the band as well.

“Next month. You’re coming, right?”, Freddie asked you. “There’s no way I’m missing it”, you answered, and they started to pack some of their instruments. The heavier ones were allowed to stay in an empty janitor’s closet on the corridor outside, and that included the drums.

They would usually stay and help Roger, but you said you could do it, and they left the two of you in the room. You watched as Roger sat on the stool, probably about to start packing the drums, but you quickly moved there and sat on his lap, your face inches away from him.

He smirked as you grabbed his hair by the base of his neck and pulled you closer to him, moving his hands through your body, setting one of them on your waist and the other one on your hips. “You look pretty hot playing the drums. Made me remember why I didn’t forget your face for months”, you said, placing a lingering kiss on his lips.

“Took you long enough. I remember why I kept thinking of you everytime I look at you”, he said, outflirting you. You were always competing, it seems, who can be a more obvious, cheesy, ironic flirt.

You got up, turned around and sat on his lap again. “Teach me something”, you said, and he chuckled. “Sure”, he said while grabbing the drumsticks. He moved his hands through your sides before extending them over your arms and placing the drumsticks on your hands. He started to hit the drums slightly, a simple beat, moving the drumsticks as he moved your hands.

That’s when he decided to lean himself completely onto you, pressing himself onto your body, his lips ghosting on the skin of the curve of your neck, before propping his chin there. You felt a shiver on your back, and you dropped one of the drumsticks. He laughed as you got up, but you didn’t pick the drumstick as he expected. You turned back around and sat on his lap.

“You already gave up on our class?” He said as you started to kiss his neck, holding him by the collar on his shirt. “I’ll ask for another one later”, you said moving your hands down to the hem and pulling his shirt up, kissing his lips. You then broke the kiss as you realised the door was unlocked.

“Shit”, you said, and you started to move up, but Roger’s strong hands held you down. “What?” he asked. “The door’s unlocked”, you said, motioning up again, but he held you down. “So what? The college is technically closed”, he said, smirking and moving his hands down your skirt, pushing your panties to the side, his fingers convincing you to forget about the unlocked door, a moan leaving your lips.

“I need you to come to every rehearsal if it leaves you like this”, his voice already sounding out of breath, and you smirked at him. You really hoped he would.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS!!! LAST PART OF THE FIRST ACT!!! Don’t worry, act two starts tomorrow, and then we’re Officially in the middle of the fic. Thank you all who are reading it! It’s been a pleasure to write it and a joy to see that you guys are enjoying it.

**ACT ONE: DUSK**  
“Everything is getting settled for what happens at night. It’s time for anticipation. The hour of the day when you feel the potential in the air.”

 

_Chapter 7_

A strong smell of cologne and cigarette smoke was the only thing your nose could capture in the boy’s small dressing room. They all shared a small room as they got ready for their show, excited because it was in an actual small music festival - even though it was in the countryside. The trip there was already a bit stressful, since the car broke down twice - they had to change the tire once, and then the car engine wouldn’t start, and they had to wait until another car passed on the empty road so it could jump start their car.

Roger was stressed inside the car - more so than the other boys. He insisted you went to their show, even though it was a three hour trip away, and now the car kept breaking down. He was stressed not only because there would be barely no time for them to set up their equipment for the show, but also because you might get mad at him for the shitty time you were having.

When you both got off the car to look for the jumper cables in the back - or jumper leads, as he called them - he apologized for the whole situation. “It’s not your fault, Rog. I want to go to the show, I want to see you guys play. Even if none of us are very satisfied with the situation right now, I’m not blaming you”, you said, and you two exchanged a tired smile.

“Well, I am. I thought this van was in better conditions, Mr Taylor”, Freddie said, getting off the car. “It’s better than no van at all, Freddie”, Roger answered. “It’s a long trip in a bad road, full of holes. If there was less holes, the tire wouldn’t need to be changed, and the car would only have a problem starting once we were returning. It’s easier if we blame Roger, though. More satisfying”, John said, also getting off the van.

“I was about to thank you, but then you kept talking and changed my mind” Roger said with an ironic grin. “I’m not getting off this car to make any snarky remarks. I’m gonna take a nap until you fix this”, Brian said, his voice sounding distant as he laid down on the back seat of the van.

“Now that sounds smart”, you said back at him, but you started moving down the road. “But I don’t think it’s gonna be a long nap, Bri. There’s a car coming”, you continued as you saw the car get closer.

“I hope whoever’s there helps us”, Deacy said. “They will”, Roger said, almost aggressively. He was mad at himself for the whole situation. “Relax, Rog. Let me handle this”, you told him.

“Yeah, let Y/N seduce the driver into helping us”, Freddie said, teasing Roger. “I guess I won’t have to”, you said, as the car got closer and you had a good look at the driver. “It’s an old lady”, and she started slowing down as she noticed you.

She was incredibly nice. You barely had to ask before she got off the car, even taking the cables off Deacy’s hands and connecting both car batteries. “You know, you should take this car to a shop as soon as possible”, she said, looking at Roger. “Yeah, I’ll do that as soon as we get back to London”, he answered her, feeling as if his mom was giving him a lecture. The lady was tough, but caring. “If you were my grandson, I’d take it for you. I just came back from visiting him in London. He reminds me of you, all of you, with the long hair and… different… clothing. Except you, of course, dear”, she said, now talking to you. “You remind me of myself, a few years ago. I used to go on road trips with my husband all the time, before he got drafted, you know”, and she kept talking as she helped Roger and John to start the car.

After that, she opened her backseat and got a big Tupperware full of scones, and jelly and cream on two smaller Tupperwares. “Just so you have a snack on your way and don’t perform on an empty stomach”, she said, looking at you one by one. “You really remind me of my grandson”, she told Deacy, and gave him a hug. He froze at first, confused, but soon relaxed and hugged her back.

“Thank you helping us!” you told her. “And thanks for the scones!” Freddie said, already biting one of them. “You’re all welcome. Goodbye, kids”, she said, looking at you all again, and keeping her gaze a little longer on John. “Take care”, he told her, and she started her car and left.

“I though it was pronounced scone, like tone”, you said, and Roger laughed. “Of course you do. But it’s scone, like gone. There’s a rhyme for that”, he said, and tried to remember it. But you were faster. “ _I asked the maid in dulcet tone_

_To order me a buttered scone;_

_The silly girl has been and gone_

_And ordered me a buttered scone_ ”

The boys stared at you. “What? I got corrected about it as soon as I got here. But it’s fun to see if a person will correct me by becoming offended or by being nice”, you told them. “So you were testing me?” Roger said, ironically raising his eyebrow. “Yeah”, you told him, nodding your head and wrapping your arms around his torso. “And did I pass?”, he asked, gently holding your face in his hands. “With flying colors”, you told him, and he gave you a peck on the lips.

“Oi, lovebirds. We have a show to perform”, Freddie interrupted, and you got inside the car. You sat by Roger’s side, his right hand on your thigh. “Again, and not that I have anything against you being here, Y/N, but why couldn’t I bring Veronica?”, Deacy asked, and you nodded your head as if saying “it’s fine”.

“Because it’s my van and it would only fit one more person, so I chose who it would be”, Roger said. “Focus on driving the car, Roger. We don’t need any other surprises, like getting lost”, Brian said, just waking up from his nap. “Are these scones?”, he said as he opened the Tupperware.

And you were now putting cream and jelly - or jam, as Roger corrected you later - on one of the last scones, sitting on the couch, watching them get ready. They dressed at a normal pace, not embarrassed of your presence, but Roger took a little longer, fixing his hair as he wore only his underwear. He looked at you from the mirror, smirking, just to make sure you were watching him. You smirked back.

His show outfit today was nothing but black leather pants and a velvet vest. “How do I look?” he asked you, before sitting by your side. “You know, I think I’ve seen better”, you smiled at him. “Really? When?” he asked you. “Hm, let me think. Probably yesterday afternoon”, you told him. He spent the afternoon in your place, and you enjoyed it in your usual, very carnal, manner. “Oh, I see. But I’m not sure if you’d like me to perform naked”, he wondered. “Perhaps if it was a private performance”, you answered, and he smiled at you. “Maybe later. Can you put it on me?”, he said, giving you the eyeliner. You smiled back at him and slid the eyeliner across his lids, smudging it with your fingers. “You’re annoying, really. You’re not only hot and talented, but you also look better with eyeliner than I do”, you told him, admiring his look. “I beg to differ”, he answered you, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

You were about to kiss when someone knocked at the door. “Queen in 10 minutes. We need you backstage”, and Roger rolled his eyes, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “You taste like jam”, he told you, licking his lips and getting up from the couch, offering you a hand.

You all started walking to where they had to wait for their turn to perform, and they all looked a bit nervous. Roger twirled his drumsticks in his hands. He turned to you. “Are you gonna watch the show from here?” He asked you. “Actually, I thought it would be a better experience from the audience. I should probably get going if I want a good spot, though”, you answered, and gave him a kiss. “I hope you enjoy it. It was an interesting experience, up until now, right? That lady was nice”, he said, and you laughed. 

“Yeah, it was definitely interesting how she was about to adopt John”, you answered. “We only found her instead of a grumpy middle aged man because of you. You’re my good luck charm”, he said, kissing you again. “Am I, though? You could also make the point that the car broke down because of me. Maybe I’m not bringing you luck, maybe I’m just making things more interesting. You did meet me right after your frontman quit the band”, you told him. “Yeah, and right before we got a better frontman and a better bassist. But I like your point; you’re not my good luck charm, you’re my interesting charm”, he said as a staff told them it was time. “Good luck. I’ll be as close to the stage as possible”, you told him, as he exhaled and gave you a quick smile.

You said good luck to the rest of the boys as well, and followed the signs until you found the audience. You moved through the crowd, finding a nice spot, but unable to be in front of the stage; there was a group of girls that wouldn’t let you come closer. They were all wearing tiny pieces of clothing, even though it’s still cold in March. Leather, fur, sequins; they were definitely dressed to get as much attention as possible. They got yours, and since the boys weren’t onstage yet, you overheard their conversation.

“So Robert, the roadie, said he could get us backstage passes. I know it would be easier to get on with the boys from the local band, but I want someone from Queen. They’re from London, you know”, the prettier one said. She seemed to be the older, even though she seemed younger than you - maybe she was 18? - and was the most confident. You realised they were groupies.

But that didn’t bother you - hell, you even thought to yourself a couple of times that, since Roger and you weren’t really, officially dating, you were a groupie. But now, being faced with people that, even though younger than you, really knew what being a groupie was, you thought how stupid you were. They probably planned that whole evening, making friends with staff members and stuff. You just got lucky.

And then one actually got on your nerves. “I’ll try to get with the drummer, the blonde one. He’s cute, and my friend hooked up with him last year. She said he was pretty straightforward”, a 16-year-looking girl said, her brown hair around her heart shaped face.

You’ve never been jealous of Roger before, but this made you a bit uncomfortable. They were all younger than you, wearing sexy clothing and looking like they were about to hunt. They seemed focused.

But then the band got onstage, and you forgot about them. They started with Son and Daughter, and Roger’s moan-like enunciation of “I want you” at the intro of the song got you distracted. They sounded amazing, and the audience reacted - people learned the chorus (when there was one) and were singing it at the top of their lungs at the end of the songs. If the song was more experimental, like The Night Comes Down, they just banged their heads to the beat and danced. You knew they were special when you watched them rehearse, but now, in a large audience, you never saw them play so perfectly. It was like the audience energized them.

Freddie had everyone hooked to every word he sang, Brian amazed them at his long, complex solos, Roger kept everyone moving, never missing a beat, singing his harmonies and falsettos with perfection, and Deacy - in his first official performance with the band - didn’t miss a note, and even danced a little when he sang backing vocals on Freddie’s mic in Liar, the last song of the show.

You made your way backstage, more amazed at the incredible experience you had as a member of the audience than turned on by Roger. It was the best show you’ve ever been to. You just thought about the girls again once you got to the backstage entrance, passing through them with your backstage pass on your neck as they shot you a death glare. They saw you as competition. It made you uncomfortable; before Roger, you didn’t even went out on a date with a musician. You have been seeing him for two months, and you got along with the rest of the band as well.

But really, what made you any different from them when you don’t look into the details of the situation? You only got there because you thought Roger was hot the first time you saw him. You just saw him before they did.

So you weren’t as happy as you were a few minutes before. But then Roger appeared in your field of vision - what was he doing on the backstage entrance instead of the dressing room? But then his eyes found yours and he called your name. He was looking for you, a huge smile on his face.

The sight of him in his leather and velvet outfit, black eyeliner on his eyes, contrasting with his happy expression, lifted your spirits and mood. You ran into his arms, jumping on him and wrapping your legs around his waist, giving him a long, wet kiss. “This was the best show I’ve ever seen in my entire life”, you told him, as you both breaked the kiss to get some air. “I’m glad you liked it, babe”, he told you, and you felt a buzz through your body. He never used a pet name before.

“I loved it,  _babe_ ”, you told him, winking as you used the pet name, too. “Let’s get to the dressing room so you can tell the boys how you’re our number one fan”, he told you.

As you got to the dressing room, the girls were already there with the band. You saw as Brian talked to the leader, her blonde curls matching his brunette ones. Another one talked to Freddie, and the other one was trying to get John’s attention as he turned a bottle of whiskey. The brunette that wanted Roger was sitting on the couch, and her eyes glimmered once she saw him, but the happiness was gone as soon as she saw you holding his hand.

Roger sat on one of the chairs and served whiskey in two glasses, offering you one as you sat on his lap and wrapped one of your arms around his neck. He barely had a sip of his drink when you grabbed his head by the jaw and started kissing him, almost as if you were marking territory. Roger noticed you were a bit more touchy with him, considering you were usually less of a show off in public, but he enjoyed it when you moved in his lap, now straddling his hips.

You kept making out until Freddie caught your attention by announcing you were all going to a pub down the street. You both got up, Roger’s face marked with you lipstick, and you thought that you probably looked the same. You liked it; it was more obvious who was he with.

As you walked to the pub, Roger’s grip on your waist got a bit loose sometimes, as his hand went down and squeezed your ass. He was expecting you to smack his chest, telling him to be less obvious, but you didn’t. You just smiled, happy that he was still being obvious in his preference for you.

In the pub, you both tried talking to John, but he was already too drunk to have a real conversation with anyone. That was good, because then he didn’t notice how Roger’s hands were going up your inner thigh, him watching your reaction as you bit your lip to hold a moan. The girl who was talking to him got annoyed and tried to get Brian’s attention, but the leader of the girls didn’t seem interested in sharing him, and started kissing him right there. The brunette that wanted Roger was more lucky, as Freddie gave her as much attention as he gave the other girl, the one that first started talking to him.

“Let’s go out for a smoke”, Roger told you, and you both got up right as John’s head plopped on the table. He passed out. “Should we be concerned?” you asked, his hand already guiding you out of the bar. “I don’t think so. John really likes his alcohol”, he told you, and got a cigarette out of his pocket. He passed it to you, lighting it up while you held it between your lips. “I’ll never get used to how beautiful you look”, he said, looking into your eyes as you breathed in the smoke.

“I’ll never get over how beautiful, talented and a good lay you are”, you told him, and he laughed. “You’re getting even faster than me at flirting back, you know”, he answered, and you passed the cigarette to him.

He looked so beautiful there, just smoking, his body against the wall, his bare chest out, since the wind pushed his vest back, and you just kept looking at him, not really thinking much besides how insane it was that this guy,  _this fucking guy_ , was still interested in you, when he interrupted your internal dialogue. “Do you like your view?”, he asked, noticing how you were checking him out. “It’s quite nice”, you answered, and he passed you the cigarette. “They should study how horny you get after seeing me perform. Or was it something else?”, he asked, but he had a guess. “If I’m being honest, I got a bit territorialist, you could say, when your dressing room got that full”, you admitted. “Is it like that everytime?”, you asked. “Yeah, but as long as you’re there, I won’t have eyes for anyone else”, he told you, moving in front of you. “But you don’t have to, though. I felt stupid afterwards, because it’s not like I’m different from them, you know? I’m a groupie, too. You don’t have any obligations with me, like fidelity. I’m just less aware that I’m a groupie most of the times”, you said, looking down.

You hated to admit these things to him, to be this serious, but you always liked when everything was clear, and that included where you are with Roger. His index finger got under your chin and lifted your face so he could look straight into your eyes. “You are different. I’ve never been with only one person for so long. How can I make this more obvious to you?” he said, kissing you.

The kiss started slow, but it got deeper as he started pressing you against the cold bricks of the bar. “I know, actually. I only had one serious girlfriend in my life, when I was really young, but I want to try having another one, if it makes you understand you’re not just a groupie. Y/N, you’re funny, you’re beautiful, you’re interesting, and you’re an amazing lay. The best I’ve ever had. I adore how you’re not a prude or pretending to be one. You’re not a groupie I barely pay attention to the name. Do you want to be my girlfriend?” he asked, his fingers running down your thighs and putting one of them on his hips.

You were shocked and amazed. You wondered if he was only being like this because he was drunk, but his blue eyes were electric and awake. “Yes”, you answered him, and he smiled at you. “Okay, then let’s go to the bathroom. I know you don’t like to do stuff in public and I’m not going back to London without fucking  _my girlfriend_ ”.


	8. Chapter 8 - Act Two: Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was fun to write, a bit angsty, a bit fluffy, a bit smutty. I hope it helps you get through your Christmas reunions!

**ACT TWO - NIGHT  
**

“Everything is more intense at night.”

 

_Chapter 8_

**November 1974, Rainbow Theatre**

Your hips swayed at the sound of Jailhouse Rock as you watched from the side of the stage, concerned as Roger hit the drums with anger. You knew he was stressed from the way he played the drums; you overheard Freddie complain to Mary as he changed his outfit, saying how the camera crew was getting on his nerves and making him unable to really connect with the audience, but you knew Freddie would keep his calm, at least on stage. He was the most excited for today, the day they’ve been preparing for months: the recording of Queen Live at the Rainbow ‘74.

They all arrived at the Theatre in a separate car, and you, Veronica (John’s girlfriend), Chrissie (Brian’s girlfriend) and Mary (you never really knew where she was with Freddie, but you supposed they were doing fine at the moment. You always thought of her as Freddie’s person, not really a girlfriend, but something like that). You felt weird in the band’s girlfriends car, almost as if tonight you were playing a role, that role being the classy and quiet rockstar girlfriend.

When you got there, the crew filmed them in the dressing room, so you were all discouraged of really interacting with them. So your last memory of talking to Roger was when you both separated, right in front of your shared flat as the cars arrived to pick you up. You were holding his hand, both of you quiet since you knew he was nervous, his striped blazer shining against the streetlights. You knew you’d barely be able to see him again before the show, so as you saw the first black limo getting closer to your house, you squeezed his hand to get his attention. “The cars arrived. In case I don’t get to talk to you again before the show, good luck, Rog”, you said, pressing your lips against his. The car lights shined through your closed lids, and you broke up the kiss.

“Thank you, Y/N. See you later”, he said, moving to his limo. You couldn’t see the boys inside the car; the limo tinted windows were too dark. But you waved at them, and you hoped they answered. Roger gave you a quick smile as he opened the door, and you smiled back at him.

You knew he was stressed. They all were, with Trident, their studio, keeping most of their earnings. And now that they are recording their show tonight, they’re a pile of nerves.

The second limo showed up in your street, and you moved across your front yard to get to it. It was too cold for November, your deep red satin dress and black tights didn’t really protect you against the cold wind. The clicking of your heels on the cement calmed you down a little. It would be okay. Everything’s gonna turn out alright tonight.

You got inside the limo, making small talk with the other girls. You were actually quite close to them; they were the only ones who understood what you went through: the long weeks without seeing Roger, the occasional cheating. But you also felt a bit uncomfortable with them; you saw the boys with other people that were not them when you visited Roger on tour - and you knew things were more complex between Mary and Freddie, but Chrissie and Veronica were in a serious relationship, just like you. You sometimes wondered if they thought the same about you, if Roger cheated on you more times than you knew.

But you didn’t want to think about anything stressful, especially things that are already sorted out. So you all talked about your outfits and complained about Trident and easy stuff like that. You felt like they were all better rockstar girlfriends then you; they all had jobs, but they would feel complete if they were only wives and mothers. You knew you wouldn’t. But you didn’t want to think about stressful things, so you laughed as Mary told a story about a funny german lady, talking about how she bought an entire closet worth of clothing with her at her shift at Biba, the store she worked at. And you hoped the show would be good, with little to no problems.

But it wasn’t. The camera crew constantly invaded their personal space and shyed them away from interacting with the fans as much as they’d usually do, and the lighting staff missed cues constantly. You could see the boys anxiety turn into anger as the show progressed, Brian and John’s shoulders becoming more tense, Freddie’s movements becoming more charming and quick - as if to compensate for the rest of the show’s problems. And you noticed how Roger was hitting the drums with anger, flicking the drumsticks constantly, his concentrated frown turning into an enraged one.

And then John got a bit closer to Roger and you read his lips saying “Back off”, and you stopped dancing to their Elvis cover. Roger finished his part of the song and started kicking and pushing his set off the drum risers, a cymbal missing Freddie’s hair by an inch.

He barely looked at you before moving to the dressing room, and you exchanged a quick look with Veronica - the one you were the closer to - before following him, the rest of the band also running to the dressing room.

“What the fuck was that? Why was the camera crew in our way? Why did you change the lighting crew? What the fuck was that?” Freddie screamed at the producers, and the rest of the band just looked at them with anger.

Freddie continued to scream at them, and after the producers left, he turned around to look at the band. “Thank you for having my back in this conversation, all of you. It seems as if I’m the only one angry at this fucking mess”, he said, looking at Brian and John, who sat in a couch with their girlfriends caressing their arms.

“And you! What the fuck! You missed my head by a fucking millimeter! Are you insane?” he turned at Roger and screamed at him. He was sitting alone at an armchair, his head between his hands.

“C'mon, Mary. Let’s get to this after party already”, he said, and they both left the room. Brian shot a death glance at Roger, visibly annoyed at him for throwing the drumset, probably thinking it could’ve hurted someone, and then left, Chrissie following him. “Good luck, Y/N”, John said, getting up from the couch with Veronica, who smiled at you as she left the dressing room with Deacy.

You were alone with Roger. You knew he was angry, but you could now hear his heavy breathing, and you noticed as he furrowed his eyebrows in pain after throwing his shoulders back and his head up. He probably hurt a muscle playing.

“C'mon, Rog”, you said, offering him a hand, and he accepted it. You guided him through the backstage, following the signs until you got to the stage door. The boys already left, and there was only one car there, waiting for the two of you. You got to to the car, and Roger opened the door for you. “Thanks, Rog”, you said, as he sat by your side. He just nodded his head, still to annoyed at the situation to smile at you.

“Where to?” the driver asked, and you turned to Roger. “Do you feel like going to the after party? I don’t mind skipping it today”, you told him, and he nodded, agreeing with you. “We’re going to our place”, you told the driver.

The ride home was quiet. The silence wasn’t comfortable; you wanted to distract him from the horrible night he had, but his body language was still tense, and you respected his time. You thought about the first time you had an uncomfortable silence with him.

It was the summer of 1973, last year. He confessed through the phone thathe cheated on you in an after party in America. He felt guilty. But you didn’t answer him; you put the phone down, got your keys, went outside the house and started walking away from the it, from  _his_  house, the one you moved to a few weeks before, away from Roger’s smell in your bed, away from his jacket, still in the hanger by the door.

You wanted to walk to New York, back to your parent’s apartment, the Metropolitan Museum of Art visible from your window. You’d go around the museum and into the Central Park, and walk to Cleopatra’s Needle, and cry on the bench between the thousands of years old obelisc and the glass wall of the museum.

That was your favourite spot in the world, the one you’d always feel safe in, and it was a thousands of miles away. Hell, Roger was closer to it in Las Vegas than you were in London. You only realised you walked all the way to your old apartment in London when you got there. You looked up and found a light in your window, a shadow moving around.

The only things you really had in England were your place and Roger, and now they were both used by strangers. He insisted you moved into his place, because he had a private backyard and you didn’t, and because you spent most of the time in his place. You moved right before he went touring, being left with an empty house and a cheating boyfriend.

When he got back to England a week later, you felt less angry at him and angry at yourself. The day after he admitted his cheating, you put on his favourite dress on you, his favourite lingerie, and went to the closest pub. You met a blonde guy there, and went to his place after a few drinks, but it was Roger’s name you moaned as the guy went down on you.

When he arrived in a humid, rainy day, his hair was frizzy. You were waiting for him on the couch. He said sorry and started moving closer to you, but you stopped him. “I’m sorry, too”, you told him, as he gave you a confused look. You told him what happened, and his legs got weak; he had to sit down. He looked at you in deep pain, tears on his eyes, his face getting red, and you thought he was about to scream at you. But he just looked guilty and hurt after the red got away from his face. It would’ve felt better if he screamed, so you could scream back at and release your anger and frustration at your relationship. But he didn’t.

So you sat by his side on the couch, not knowing what to do. You felt guilty, too. You didn’t know how make things right. Then he turned his head back at you, and looked at your lips. You looked at his. And when you crashed your lips together, before getting undressed and fucking in the carpet, you could feel the salt of someone’s tears in the middle of the kiss. You didn’t knew if they were yours or his.

But now it was less uncomfortable; you knew he was angry at himself for the pushing the drum kit, and for making you feel uncomfortable. He was having a bad day, but you still loved him. You would try to make it better, because you knew he would do the same for you. You’ve been through enough together.

So when you got off the car and into your house, you opened the door. He sat on the couch, the lights still turned off, but you didn’t turn them on. You got the lighter from your purse and lit the candles sitting in the coffee table in front of him.

You then got upstairs, and picked up an essential oil to massage his shoulders. Lavender. He looked at you as you got downstairs, a small smile on his lips. “You don’t have to-”, he whispered, but you cut him “I know I don’t. I just want to”, you told him, moving around the couch.

He took his shirt off at the end of the show, and only had his blazer on before you left the venue. You put your hands on top on his shoulders, moving your head down and pressing a gentle kiss on top of his head. His hair was sweaty, but you didn’t really care.

You then thought of something that was missing. Music. You moved to the stereo and looked through your collection. You had a lot of music, but it was Abbey Road in your mind. You found it after a few seconds. You decided to put on  _Something_.

_Something in the way she moves_

_Attracts me like no other lover_

_Something in the way she woos me_

_I don’t want to leave her now_

_You know I believe and how_

You moved closer to him, and got back behind the couch. You started sliding his blazer off his shoulders, and he helped.

_Somewhere in her smile she knows_

_That I don’t need no other lover_

_Something in her style that shows me_

_I don’t want to leave her now_

_You know I believe and how_

You put some drops of lavender oil in your hands, and started to massage his shoulders, then moved to the sides of his neck, the to his back, then his biceps.

_You’re asking me will my love grow_

_I don’t know, I don’t know_

_You stick around and it may show_

_I don’t know, I don’t know_

You could feel as if he was play dough under your fingers now, his tension going away as you touched him. He let out a sigh, tired, but satisfied, as he moved his hands up your arms.

_Something in the way she knows_

_And all I have to do is think of her_

_Something in the things she shows me_

_I don’t want to leave her now_

_You know I believe and how_

“Thank you, Y/N”, he said, grabbing your hands and pressing a kiss onto them. “C'mere”, he said, and you moved around the couch. He hugged you, still sitting on the couch. You sat by his side, turned in his direction, and started to brush his sweaty strands of hair away from his face. He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry for being so moody today”, he said, and you chuckled.

“It’s okay. I think the boys are the ones who are mad at you”, you told him. “I know. But I want to apologize to you, first”, he said, opening his eyes and gazing into yours.

He moved one of his hands to your jaw, sliding his thumb across your cheek, and he kept looking at you as he moved closer to you, his lips finally touching yours.

You kissed him back slowly, the scent of lavender keeping both of you calm. Your hands went to his bare chest, then moved up to the back of his neck, as he started to kiss yours, and then moved his lips down your chest. His hands went down your body, and one of them sat at your waist while the other one squeezed your breasts. He pulled your dress down to get access to them, and moved his kisses there as well. You moaned when you felt his warm lips on the sensitive skin of your nipple.

His free hand then went down under your dress, and his fingers pressed against your wet core through your underwear. You let out a sigh as he did it, and you felt his smile against your skin. He then moved his hands to the waistband of your lingerie and pulled it down. You moved your legs so the underwear would fall to the ground and then separated them, in order to give Roger more access to you.

He massaged you before sliding two of his fingers between your folds, and earned a moan from your lips. He fingered you for a while, but it was too slow. You opened your eyes moved your hands to his zipper, pulling it down, and then pulled his pants down to the middle of his thighs.

You touched him through his boxers, and he let out a small growl, moving his own underwear down. You moved on top of him, and his hands pulled your dress up, bunching it on your waist, and then slid to your ass, squeezing it.

You put your head on the curve of his neck, and got your hips down. As you started riding him, you could still smell lavender off his skin.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was one of my favourites to write, actually. Which is odd, since it’s basically just fluff. Just something to warm your hearts as you say goodbye to Christmas and before the angsty part of the story really starts lol

**ACT TWO - NIGHT**

“Everything is more intense at night.”

 

_Chapter 9_

The smell of bacon and eggs along with the sound of your voice singing woke Roger up.

_You made me a woman tonight_

_Dream until the morning light_

He smiled against the pillow. You were singing a song from this new band you really enjoyed - Fleetwood Mac - and he actually didn’t have anything against it, but liked to pretend he just to tease you.

He got up and started to look for his boxers. When he found them, he realised he had a cut on his hand. He didn’t really care. He probably cut it when he punched the drums off its risers yesterday, but it was fine now.

As he moved downstairs, your singing got louder.

_Forever_

_Forever, love_

_Together_

_Together, love_

“Morning, babe”, he said, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to your neck. He smirked when you shivered at his touch. “Morning, Rog”, you answered, still focused on the eggs and bacon that were in front of you on the stove. “Are you feeling better?”, you asked him, breaking away from his embrace to grab two plates on the cupboard. “Sure. I think I still smell like lavender, too, which is probably an improvement on my smell of cigarettes”, he said, as you served the bacon and the eggs on the plates.

You moved closer to him and hugged him. “Shut it. You always smell amazing. Yeah, like cigarettes, but also mint and something else, more masculine. Like, more woody”, you said, and got on the tip of your toes, just so you could breathe his scent. “But yeah, you do still smell like lavender”, you laughed.

He quickly grabbed you by the waist and put you on the kitchen counter. “Talking about wood, you know”, he winked, pressing himself against your hips. “You stole my kimono again”, he said, looking at what you were wearing. “I did. Thought it would look better on me”, you said, and he laughed. “You’re not wrong”, he answered, moving his hand so he could cup your jaw. But something caught your attention.

“Roger, you’re bleeding”, you tensed, and grabbed his hand so you could really check. “Yeah, guess I hurt myself yesterday. You know, pushing the drums. The cut probably opened up again as I got you on the counter”, he shrugged. “But I didn’t notice that last night”, you answered, jumping off the counter and looking for the first aid kit. “We got a bit busy last night”, he answered you, and you smiled, the kit in your hands.

“Let’s get this cleaned up, so my favourite drummer can still throw me on kitchen counters without dropping blood on his japanese kimono”, you answered. As you cleaned his cut, you thought about his visit to Japan earlier this year.

He tried to convince you to go with him for months, saying how much history Japan had, how he’d promise you could skip the press he had to do and go to all the museums, how much fun it would be to go to a new country, one that none of you knew, and discover it. But you had your finals.

He called you every night, and you asked about his day. He’d tell you everything about how crazy the fans were, how none of them really understood how big their success was in Japan, how Deacy was reacting to the fact that he was a fan favourite there, and how he spilled tea on himself on a fancy tea ceremony they attended for the press, but he was sure nobody noticed it. How he thought of you when he wore his ugliest beret, the one you said smelled like weed and made him look like a crazy old lady, but you’d always smile when you saw him wearing it. He didn’t knew it was because you were always marveled by the fact he could make you swoon for him, no matter how ugly his outfit choices were.

And he asked you about your day, how were your finals, how was the cat that was roaming around your house - did his owners came to pick him up? Or did someone adopt him? And as you told him that it was taking all you had not to adopt him already, the boys came into the room Roger was in and made the call almost impossible to understand.

“Y/N!!! You should’ve came!! You would love the fashion here! There’s a street called Harajuku that is completely insane” you heard Freddie scream. “And the food! I ate a living octopus!” Deacy said. “That was fucking gross, Deacon”, you heard Brian. “Can you guys shut up? I’m the one on the phone with her. You can call her later”, Roger complained. “It’s just that it’s time for us to go and you’ve been on the phone for twenty minutes, Roger”, Freddie answered, and you could hear his annoyance through the phone.

“Okay, okay. Just a minute”, he said. “Where are you guys going?” you asked him, but looking at your watch and adding 9 hours, you knew the answer. “We’re going to a club near the hotel”, he said, and you felt your shoulders get tense. You were always nervous when you thought of Roger going out without you to a party, and you hated this feeling. You hated being so possessive. “But I’m just gonna get shitfaced. They have a drink here, sake, that is really good. I’m gonna bring a bottle for you”, he promised.

And he did. You drank it in its entirety with him the night he got back, as you listened to The Dark Side Of The Moon laying on your bed, him telling you more about the trip, and you only shut him up so you could have lazy sex. You felt like a married couple, sometimes.

You finished putting a band aid on his cut, and he smiled. “I love it when you take care of me”, he said, and kissed your hand. “Such a gentleman. I could’ve been a doctor, though. Look how well I applied that band aid!”, you said, serving coffee on two mismatched mugs you got on a flea market.

His house was very plain when you met him. It didn’t have many colors or furniture, just the basics. But as you started to spend more time there, you started gifting him with some stuff to add more color to it - a red throw rug, colorful mugs. Once you moved there, you brought some of your furniture with you, and the house was now a perfect mix of the two of you.

A big amethyst geode you got on a wicca store held his albums on the shelf, and a rose scented candle was on top of the magazines he got to read on his stall - now closed, due to the fact that Queen occupied all of his time, even though he made almost the same amount of money now as he did then, thanks to Trident Studios.

You were humming to Warm Ways by Fleetwood Mac again as you took your mug and your plate to the table, and he smiled as he did the same. “Are you singing that hippie stuff again?”, he asked you through a grin. “Yes, I am”, you answered, biting the bacon. “I can’t believe I’m dating a folksy hippie”, he said before eating the eggs. “This is really good. Thank you”, he told you.

You both ate the breakfast quietly, and after you finished, he got your plate and mug on one hand and his on the other, and took it to the sink. “What do you think you’re doing?”, you asked him, and he shot you a smile. “The dishes. You cooked, so I clean”, he answered, and you had to hold yourself from giving him a peck on the lips.

He looked so cute, so domestic, on his plaid boxers, the lavender scent with the smell of sex surrounding him, the sunshine on his skin. It was a sunny morning, a miracle in the middle of the english winter. “But you can’t. You have a cut on your hand”, you told him, pushing him to the side with your hips. “Hey, Florence Nightingale, it’s a small cut. I know you like to take care of me, but relax. It’s gonna disappear in a couple days”, he told you, referencing the lady that fell in love with her patients, and you pretended to be offended, but went to the living room anyway.

You cuddled on the couch with a book - On The Road - and distracted yourself with it, being interrupted a few minutes later when Roger appeared in front of you with a gift.

“I know it’s not Christmas yet, but I was walking around Sloane Street while you were in class the other day, and I saw this and thought of you”, he said, giving you the package. As you opened it, you saw the brand. Louis Vuitton.

“Roger, you really didn’t have to”, you said, opening the gift anyway. You were curious. The first thing you noticed was the fabric - a sapphire colored chiffon. You picked it up and realised it was a dress, a beautiful, elegant yet still stylish dress. “Oh my God, Roger”, you said, smiling. He was smiling back at you, a genuine smile. “Did you like it?” he asked you, and you got up to hug him. “Like it? I love it! I can’t believe you bought this for me!” you told him. “Yeah, I thought you could wear it to yesterday’s show, so I got it for you, but I was so nervous that I realized I wouldn’t really take in the view of you in it”, he said, and you laughed.

“I see that. I really can’t believe you bought this, it was probably a fortune”, you were still shocked at it. “Yeah, it was. I mean, what’s the point of dating a rockstar if you don’t get expensive gifts?” he joked. “I mean, I can definitely think of a few other reasons”, you said, and he laughed.

“I bet I can guess a few of them, but I want to talk to you about something a bit serious”, he said, biting his lip, and you sat down, the dress still on your hands. He sat by your side. The dress smelled like expensive perfume; it was an odd smell in your simple and mismatched house.

“You know we’re having problems with Trident”, he said, and you nodded in agreement. “So now, even though they hold most of our money to themselves because of that stupid fucking contract, they refused to borrow money for John so he and Veronica can buy a new house, since they’re getting married and want to have kids and stuff”, he told you, and you scoffed. This was absurd.

“So this was the last straw. We just signed with a new label” he continued, and you smiled. “But, we’re going to record a new album, and we really need to prove ourselves with this one. Make a name for ourselves. Make sure this new label doesn’t regret signing us. So, they’re sending us to a farm about two hours away from here so we can record it without distractions”, he said, and you frowned. You could be considered a distraction.

“Yeah, I know”, he said upon your frown. “And it’s gonna take three months to record it. At least it’s how long we’re scheduled to be there”, he told you, and your frowned intensified. You were about to open your mouth when he said “I know, it’s gonna be three months of me not living here. You can visit me, but it’s not the same thing. I know, I’m annoyed too, and I’m sorry. But this is where the dress sort of comes in”, he touched the dress, and you looked at him confused.

“I want this album to be the best album we ever make, so I can finally make enough money to provide for you. Which I know it’s not your dream life, and of course you’re still gonna work if you want to - and I know you will, and I love you for it - but I just want to be able to know that you don’t have to work. That people know you’re not wasting your time with me when you could be with someone smarter, who also has a steady job in a university, or a museum, or something like that, not someone who was a stall owner and now is in a sort of successful band - that is actually more successful out of its own country. I want your parents to like me”, he said, a sad smile on his lips.

You didn’t knew what to say. There was so much information on the last few minutes; the dress, the new label, the album, his desire to be approved by your family - which in itself was serious, like he was implying he wanted to be with you on the long run. So you were just able to answer the last thing he said. “My parents like you. They like Queen”, you said, and he gave you a sad smile and a peck on the lips.

“Yeah, but they don’t see me as someone you’re actually in a relationship with. It’s almost like I’m a two year long college fling, a fun fact to throw around on a family dinner. The time our daughter went to school in England and dated a drummer before actually dating someone serious”, he said, and you couldn’t really disagree with that.

Your parents almost never wanted to know more about Roger. They only asked how he was when you mentioned him on the phone with them. The only time they mentioned Roger without you talking about him first was a few months ago, when Killer Queen started to play in the american radios, because your dad was coming home from work and really enjoyed the song that was playing, only realising it was by your boyfriend’s band when the radio announced it.

But they always seemed a bit surprised when you mentioned him, as if they were shocked you didn’t already switched him for a serious boyfriend.

Roger looked tired, almost like he expects you to fight with him. But his logic and motivations are so pure, and he just looks so vulnerable, with his messy bed hair and bags under his eyes, and you don’t want to fight with him. “It’s okay. I’m gonna visit you whenever you say that you’re allowed to be  _distracted_ , and I know it is going to be the best album ever, because you guys are the best band ever”, you told him, and he flashed another genuine smile at you.

“Thank you, really, for being so understanding”, he said, and he leaned in to kiss you. He broke the kiss and asked you, “Do you really think we’re the best band ever? Better than Fleetwood Mac?”, and you laughed. “Your obsession against my obsession with Fleetwood Mac is starting to concern me. But I do. Don’t tell Stevie Nicks or Christine McVie if you ever meet them, though. They’re my idols at the moment”, you said, and he scoffed. “Well, be  _sure_  that I’ll tell them that you prefer Queen, and that we’re your idols, if I ever meet these two hippies”, he joked, and sat back into the couch.

“What are you reading?”, he asked, as you got back into your book. “On The Road”, you answered. “It’s my favourite book. Did you knew that?”, he asked, and you laughed. “Yeah, I got that after the millionth time you told me”, and he laughed back as he laid down on the couch, his head on your lap. “Read it out loud. I might like it even more in your voice”, he said.

“ _He no longer cared about anything, as before, but now he also cared about everything in principle, and that is to say, it was all the same to him, and he belonged to the world and there was nothing he could do about it_ ” you started to read it from the point of the story in which you’ve stopped, and as you looked into his quiet and peaceful expression, laying on your lap and paying attention to Jack Kerouac’s words through your lips, you thought that it was because of moments like this that you were with Roger, even after everything you both went through. It wasn’t because of the sex or the shows. You loved his extroverted, sexy and outgoing part, but these quiet moments were the ones that made you stay.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the angst is coming - but not right now. Just a couple more chapters, though, so brace yourselves and enjoy some Ridge Farm Studio fluff.

 

**ACT TWO - NIGHT**

“Everything is more intense at night.”

 

_Chapter 10_

 

_New love - a boy and girl they talking_

_New words - that only they can share in_

_New words - a love so strong it tears their hearts_

David Bowie’s voice as Ziggy Stardust boomed through the interior of the Alfa Romeo. You were nervous to drive the car such a long distance. You were used to taking it around London when Roger was out, but the two hour ride to Ridge Farm Studio scared you.

You were pretty sure you were on the right way, according to the map, but just to be sure, as soon as you saw a man walking on the road, you slowed the car down and opened the window. He looked at you with a disapproving frown on his face as David Bowie sang to him.

_Love is careless in its choosing - sweeping over cross a baby_

_Love descends on those defenseless_

You turned the music down and gave him an apologizing smile. “I’m sorry, sir”, he said, but his frown wasn’t gone at the sound of your american accent. But you still had to confirm you were in the right direction. “So this road will take me to Ridge Farm, right?”, you said, and he nodded. “Well, thank you”, you said, before opening the other window as you turned the music louder, as loud as possible. If he was gonna be rude, at least give him a reason to complain.

You didn’t realize how fast you were until, less than a minute later, you could already see a mid-17th century house. That was Ridge Farm.

It was the late afternoon, the sun was setting behind the house, giving it a mysterious gloom as you got closer to it. You could already see the stars in the part of the sky that was the furthest to the horizon. It was a beautiful view, and it brought you peace. Just like imagining that you would see Roger in a few minutes.

Roger was sitting in the kitchen, waiting as Brian prepared something for them to eat - apparently it was going to be another pasta night - as he heard David Bowie’s voice from outside. He knew you finally arrived, a smirk on his lips as he looked at Brian before leaving the house.

You stopped the car and parked it as you saw the front door open, and a head full of messy blonde hair peeked out of the doorframe. When Roger confirmed it was you, he got out of the house and started walking in your direction with a grin. You opened the car door and did the same thing, Bowie’s voice still screaming.

_Make me baby, make me know you really care_

_Make me jump into the air_

And he opened his arms and you jumped so you could wrap your legs around him and start kissing him passionately. He tasted like cigarettes and chocolate, and the feeling of his tongue against your own, against your lips, made you want to have him right there. It’s been three weeks since you last saw him.

_Keep your ‘lectric eye on me babe_

_Put your ray gun to my head_

_Press your space face close to mine, love_

_Freak out in a moonage daydream oh yeah_

“Hey”, you said, after breaking the kiss to get some air. “Hey”, he said back through a smirk.

“Y/N, you come visit us blasting an album that was recorded at our old studio?”, you heard Brian ask you, and you got off Roger so you could properly answer him. Roger moved his hand down your waist and grabbed your hip, keeping you closer to him, as you started to walk to the house. Brian was in the front door, and you told him “I didn’t knew that, actually. My bad for coming here bringing all of those bad memories to you, Bri”, you joked, and Roger let go of you so you could hug him.

“But you have to admit, Bri. This album is good, and it was the only tape Roger had in his car that I actually enjoyed. I heard it twice already while coming here”, you told him, and Roger scoffed. “Actually, I have our three albums in the car”, he said, and you smiled at him. “Don’t you think it’s a bit weird if I listen to Queen in the car on my way here, as I’m spending the weekend watching you guys record your new album?” you asked him, and he looked like he was thinking.

“No, not weird at all”, he said, and you jokingly hit his chest. “I forgot how self centered a certain someone can be”, you told him, and he scoffed again. “Yeah, Brian can really be selfish sometimes”, he said, and you all laughed.

“Where is Freddie and Deacy?”, you asked as you moved inside the house. “In the studio. John’s writing a song on an Wurlitzer electric piano, and Freddie is annoyed. He hates that piano and refused to play it, so Deacy is just playing it himself”, Brian told you. “Bri’s making us dinner tonight, Y/N. You got lucky - it’s the chef special for the 6th day in a row: pasta”, Roger said, and you laughed. Bri looked annoyed at Roger. “Don’t complain, Roger. You barely know how to fry an egg”, and you laughed, knowing it was true. You were not a good cook, but in comparison to Roger, you were a full blown chef.

“Let me give you a tour of the house before dinner’s ready”, he said, offering you a hand. “Okay”, you told him, getting off the chair you were sitting on. Roger pointed at the TV and said “Along with the telephone, these are our only ways to get in touch with the outside world, and therefore are the most important parts of the living room”, and he led you outside again. “That smaller house is the actual studio, but I’ll take you there in a minute. This view is kind of nice at twilight, as you can see. It improved much more now that you brought my other love with you”, he commented, talking about his car. As he walked you inside again, you asked him “Are you proud? No scratches on this two hour long road trip!”, you said, and he turned back to you so he could give you a peck on the lips.

“Very proud”, he answered, and you smiled as you took the lead and walked upstairs. “It was tempting to scratch it out of jealousy, you know. You like this car better than you like me”, you told him, already on the second floor, and he got behind you and grabbed your waist and the back of your knees, holding you like a bride.

“That’s just not true”, he said. As he pointed his head to the other doors, he said which room belonged to who. “And that’s my room”, he told you, now walking to it. “Where’s Deacy’s room?”, you asked, still on his arms. “Downstairs. Why’d you wanna know? After scratching my car, are you gonna dump me for Deacy? Cause I think Veronica will be mad at you”, he told you, going through the door with you.

As he put you down on his bed, the mat let out a loud squeak. “So your bed is pretty loud… That could be a problem”, you told him, and he laughed. “Yeah, and you’ll have to keep your voice down, too. The walls are really thin. Unless you don’t mind confirming to the band what they already know we’re doing”, he winked at you as he moved on top of you.

“And that is?”, you asked, as he leaned in, his lips inches away from yours. “I’ll show you”, he said, finally kissing you.

It was more desperate, like your kisses were in the beginning of your relationship. His body was completely pressed against yours, your legs wrapped around him so you could feel the friction between the two of you, and you had to bite your lip to hold a moan once you felt his hard member against your wet core.

Once you moved on the bed, sitting up so you could start undressing him, the bed make a loud squeak again. Roger smirked. “I guess you’ll have to be slower, my love”, he said, taking off his own sweater. You wanted to kiss every inch of his torso, to leave marks on his body so he could remember you after you got back to London. “Maybe I don’t mind the noise. Just lock the door”, you told him, sitting up so you could unzip his pants. “That’s the thing too, Y/N. The doors don’t lock”, he said, smirking, and you looked annoyed at him.

“This studio really is planned in a way so you don’t have a lot of distractions”, you said, laying back again. “Maybe we should wait until everyone’s asleep”, you said, pouting. You didn’t want to. “I think it’s better now, since only Brian’s inside the house. We just need to finish before Freddie and John come back, they’ll want to see you”, he told you, but you weren’t completely convinced; you wanted to be with him in your own pace after being separated for weeks. He noticed that.

“C'mon, my love. Just a quickie”, he begged, and you smirked as he unzipped his pants.

…

It was the next day, right after you helped John to make lasagna for lunch, and you were in the smaller house, the studio, sitting on the couch behind the mixing console, watching as the boys finished singing the backing vocals to John’s song.

_Uh, you make me live now, honey_

The sight of Roger on the drums earlier was ever so distracting, and it made you think of the only time you weren’t mesmerized with him as he played the drums.

It was last year, 1974; they were finally invited to play on Top of the Pops, and you were all excited on your way there, spilling champagne on the car mat, the driver giving you a death glare, but you we’re all still laughing and enjoying the good time you were having.

Until you got there. The band was told they had to pretend to play their instruments, and they were all mad, but at least pretended not to be when the cameras were rolling. Except for Roger. He was not hiding his annoyed expression, and you watched from the audience as he gave up on pretending to hit the drums to the rhythm of the song, hitting cymbals in the air, twirling his drumsticks every few seconds, and even rolling his eyes as Brian pretended to play his solo.

You were holding a laugh the whole time you watched them perform. Roger looked like a child, annoyed to do its chores at home, pouting. Completely different from the sexy drummer that caught your attention years ago, you thought, as he pretended to harmonize on the fake mic. The opportunity to see that new side of him was really enjoyable, and made him grew more on you - sometimes you wondered how was that possible.

Because it’s nice to be around him when he’s confident and sexy and fun, but you also enjoyed to see more imperfect sides of him. Gave him more depth, and made you like him even more.

But now the harmonies were real and amazing, and John watched by your side. As they finished, he gave them a thumbs up. “It’s good, guys”, he said through the intercom. “What do you think, Y/N?”, he turned to ask you. “It’s beautiful, Deacy”, you answered, and he smiled.

You got one of the lyric sheets nearby. “ _Ooh, I’ve been wandering 'round / But I still come back to you_ ”, you read it out loud. “So it’s not easy for any of the band’s girls, I see”, you joked at him, and he apologized with a shy smile. 

“But it’s really nice.  _Whenever this world is cruel to me / I got you to help me forgive_ ; that’s beautiful. It’s a romantic song about the most underrated aspect of a relationship: friendship. It’s brilliant, John”, you told him.

You were reading out loud the lyric “ _In rain or shine / You’ve stood by me girl / I’m happy at home_ ”, when Roger got off the recording booth. “I still fucking hate this phrase, though”, he told John, and you looked at him confused. “What? We’re a rock n’ roll band. We shouldn’t be singing about being happy at home”, he said, throwing himself by your side on the couch.

“I think it’s nice, John. Veronica’s gonna love it”, you told him, and he thanked you. “You didn’t show me any of your songs, Rog”, you told him, and he looked shy. “Well, that’s because he only wrote one until now. The stupid car fucking song”, Freddie told you, and you laughed. “You wrote a song for your car?”, you asked, and he confirmed with a nod.

“I’m trying to write something nice so I can dedicate it to you, but I don’t know how to express myself with this romantic gibberish. So, I wrote a song about sex, thinking about you, and I thought it would be funny if I was actually talking about a car, something ironic. Masculinity taking itself too seriously”, he said, and you laughed. “Yeah, but it’s not being released as a single”, Freddie warned him. 

“Freddie, let’s not have this discussion right now. I’m trying to have a nice time with my girlfriend, I don’t want to scream at you at the moment”, he said, and you laughed. “There is no argument to be made, Roger. It’s just not happening”, Freddie told him, as you passed your legs over Roger’s lap. He just put his hands over his ears so he didn’t have to listen to Freddie, and you laughed more. “You’re such a child sometimes, Rog. And it’s okay, I don’t expect a loud rock telling me how much you love me. It’s just not you”, you told him, and he flashed a smile at you.

I mean, you would love a song dedicated to you, of course. But you were dating Roger. You weren’t dating Deacy, or even Freddie. So it was unfair with him if you expected him to act like them - especially because you were not like Veronica or Mary, who were more at ease with being just their partners. Unlike you, who desired a life of your own. If Roger supported that, you could support his kinky car song instead of a song that talked about how much he loved you. 

And later that evening, as you fell asleep on Roger’s lap while watching Barbarella with the rest of the band, you felt at ease. It was one of the most peaceful memories you had, now: the feeling of his hand on your hair as he hummed the soundtrack of the movie, paying attention to it, his jawline defined against the changing lights of the movie on his skin.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a few steps away from being porn without plot. I just wanted a really hot chapter before things went downhill for the characters lol, so yeah. This is easily the best smut I ever wrote, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever top this - even though I haven’t really wrote a lot of smut in my lifetime, so don’t expect all that much lol. I’m just surprised at myself, that’s all

**ACT TWO - NIGHT**

“Everything is more intense at night.”

_Chapter 11_

You were in the barn with Roger, a recording machine set on the side of his Alfa Romeo.

“Now, Y/N”, he said, and you pressed the gas pedal with your bare feet. You heard the engine roar, but the car wasn’t moving; the brake was pulled. Roger was recording the sound of the engine of his Alfa Romeo for the kinky car song - as you now called it.

He asked for your help because none of the guys were taking his request to have the engine sound on the song seriously, so he took you off from playing catch with the farm dog by the side of the pond.

It was a beautiful, almost warm spring day, and you hoped to swim on the pond later as they recorded - there’s only so much time you can spend locked in a small room listening to the four boys argue over minutia you didn’t really understand. So you excused yourself and played with the dog.

Roger admired you for a bit before interrupting you. He took in the view - you, barefoot on the grass, your silhouette almost angelic as your flowy yellow dress moved around you to the wind.

But he asked for your help, and even though you were scared to melt the inside of his car’s engine, you pressed your foot against the gas pedal. “A bit more, babe”, he told you, and so you did. “Okay, that’s fine for now, I guess”, he said, and you left the car.

He moved inside and adjusted the seat to his height. “Come inside. I’ll take you on another tour of rural England”, he said, jokingly, but you got inside anyway. Just like you loved to watch him drum, you loved watching him drive. He looked so confident doing it, the wind coming through the windows blowing his hair everywhere, his big hands around the steering wheel.

He drove out of the barn, and you looked at the studio as you moved away from it. “Shouldn’t we tell the boys we’re leaving?”, you asked him, and he nodded. “I guess I should. But I need a break from them and this place for a bit”, he turned to see your response, and you just smiled. “Always the rebel”, you said, and it was his turn to laugh, putting his hand on your knee.

You turned your head, the fresh wind on your face, and admired the countryside. You always thought of yourself as more of an urban person, but these long drives across green fields took you back to the beginning of your relationship with Roger - the distant shows, you always drowning in papers for school, trying to finish them as he would stop in gas stations. Now school took way less of your time, since you were working part time in a minor museum in London, and you really didn’t miss those early school days.

Or maybe perhaps you did. The afternoons Roger would try to get you to explain one of your papers to him, and you did, cramming years of history in a few minutes, and he’d just stare at you in awe. He said you did the same thing when you watched him write a song. You were now more used to each other, which was good in a few ways, but took away some of the mystique of being together.

You sometimes wondered if it was better that Roger had to spend time away, since it kept your relationship a bit more fresh. But even trying to imagine a Roger that wasn’t in a band, always touring and doing press and composing was impossible. It wouldn’t even be Roger.

“What are you thinking about?” Roger’s voice interrupted your mental monologue, his fingers brushing against your thigh, and you gave him a shy smile. You didn’t want to admit that you were being a tad pessimistic, so you shrugged and said “Nothing, really. How about you?”.

He smirked as he answered “Barbarella. More specifically, you dressed up as her”, and you laughed. He had a huge crush on Jane Fonda, especially in her white Barbarella costume, and he wouldn’t stop trying to convince you to go as her to Freddie’s Halloween party last year.

“C'mon, Y/N. I’ll do whatever you want”, he’d tell you, and you laughed. “You always do, anyway”, and he got on his knees. “I’ll let you pick a costume for me to wear”, he begged, and that got you thinking. He said he’d just go without a costume to the party, but you had an idea.

“I’ll go to the party dressed as Barbarella if-”, you were cut by his lips on yours, and he broke the kiss to thank you when you said “Let me finish. I’ll dress as Barbarella if you go as Angel”. And he opened his mouth. “But Angel only wears fabric wrapped around his pelvis and some angel wings”, he said. “Yeah, I know. I watched the movie, too”, you told him with a grin.

“I know you want me to go dressed as Jane Fonda to realize some weird sex fantasy of yours after, so it’s just fair if I can also realize one of mines”, you observed, and he furrowed his brows. “Which fantasy?”, he asked. “Well, you always looked angelic to me, with your baby blue eyes, your full lips, your blonde hair. I think it will be especially hot to fuck you if you’re wearing the angel wings to complete the look”, you confessed, and he smirked. “Now look at you, all kinky”, he told you, and you scoffed. “C'mon, Rog, I know that’s why you like me”, you told him, and he embraced you. “No, Y/N. That’s one of the reasons I love you”, he whispered, pressing a soft kiss on top of your head.

“Yeah, that was an interesting night. It was hard to keep my hands away from you during the party”, you smirked at him, and he laughed. “You know I had the same problem”, he answered, grabbing your hand from your lap and kissing it.

“We could barely wait to get home”, you remembered. “Yeah. But it was pretty good that we waited until we had a bit more privacy. It was a long night”, he completed your line of thought.

“I wish we had some privacy now. I barely see you for weeks and all we can get is quickies, looking at the door to see if someone’s about to come in. I feel like a teenager”, you complained, and his eyes got bigger. “I have an idea”, he said, abruptly turning to wheel to the side, leading the car into a small road in the woods.

“There’s a lot of trees, and I doubt anyone’s around us”, his smirk being met with another one on your lips. “Now that’s the first good idea you had today”, you tell him, and he’s about to complain that you’re not supporting his kinky car song enough when you move to his lap.

He runs his hands through the sides of your body, just the thin yellow fabric separating your skin from his, and you lean to kiss his neck. “I’m not”, you say, and then interrupt yourself to kiss a spot on his neck, “Wearing”, you say, and kiss another spot on his neck, closer to his jaw, “Panties”, you say, and stop the kisses to watch his reaction.

His lips were opened in shock, but quickly turned to a smile, a genuine smile that didn’t match the situation. “I honestly can’t fucking believe you exist, sometimes”, he whispered, and you smiled. “Check if I’m saying the truth”, you said, and he slid one of his hands down your waist as you put your weight on your knees, giving him better access to you. He then slid one of his fingers into you, and scoffed. “How did you knew we were going to fuck when you got dressed?” he asked, and you answered as you moaned, moving your hips up and down to get more friction against his fingers. “I didn’t. I just thought I could get lucky”, you said, your breathing heavy.

He took his finger off of you and put it on his mouth, sucking it. “So good”, he said, and you put your hands on the back of his neck, pulling him to a kiss. “Also, just in case I didn’t get lucky, I was gonna swim naked on the pond”, you told him when you broke the kiss to recover your breath. “Always a plan B”, he said, pulling you back into the kiss.

You could feel his member get hard under the thin fabric of his pants, but you didn’t want to hurry it. You wanted to drag this as long as possible, to compensate for all of the time together that was being taken away from you.

His hands roamed through your body, and stopped at your breasts. He held them, your nipples already hard feeling the friction against the fabric of the dress, and you both moaned against each other’s lips. He quickly moved his hands down and pulled your dress up by the hem, separating the kiss so he could completely undress you, and admiring you. “You’re so beautiful”, he said, leaning into you and pressing his lips against your breasts, and your breathing hitched.

You arched your back to give him a better access to your cleavage, and he took advantage of it by putting his hands on your butt cheeks, squeezing them as he sucked on the sensitive skin of your nipples.

As he earned a loud moan from you, you could feel his smile. He then moved one of his hands to the inside of your thighs, brushing his finger against your skin to tease you before sliding one, then two fingers between your folds.

You moaned even louder as he moved his fingers in sync with his lips on your breasts, holding you in place by his grip on your ass, and it was only necessary a few minutes of this for you to come. You put all of your weight on him as you tried to catch your breath, and as soon as you could control your breath again, you went back to kissing him.

You could feel his member even harder now, and you moved your hands down to unzip his pants. He smiled as you put your weight on your knees so he could move his hands up and pull his pants and underwear down. After he did it, you stroked him for a few seconds, feeling his erection pulsate under your fingers as you kissed him, your lips already hurting, but he held your wrist. “I’m not gonna last long like that”, he told you, his breath hitting your face, and you nodded.

You positioned yourself and started to move your hips down on him, adapting to the feeling of him inside you again, and he moaned. You tried kissing him again as you started to ride him, moving faster by the second. You leaned against the wheel, accidentally pressing the horn lightly with your back as you moved, the sound of the horn mimicking your moans.

It didn’t take you long to come again, crying out his name, and he followed you soon after. Neither of you dared to move, just tried to stabilize your breathing.

“So, this was long overdue”, he told you with a raspy voice, and you laughed, the sound making his heart warm.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a bit of a more introspective chapter - a bit shorter as well. I love writing these too - mostly set up as it was a few chapters earlier. But what is being set up in this chapter? Well, I guess only time will tell… lol I sound like an asshole. Sorry guys. Hope you enjoy this as well, and sorry for not posting yesterday

**ACT TWO - NIGHT**

“Everything is more intense at night.”

 

_Chapter 12_

You murmured the lyrics to White Queen (As It Began) as you kept on reading On The Road. The constant view of fields bored you in the first few minutes of your ride back to London on the bus, since you told Roger to keep his car around - and visit you when he got the chance - and now you were missing class on this Monday morning, hoping to make it in time for your work in the afternoon.

You were annoyed at yourself again - how you, once again, was unable to balance your relationship with Roger and your professional life. Your parents asked you about this sometimes, when you told them you would be out for a week to accompany him on tour, and you pretended to have everything under control. They sent you to England to study, and you did so - but you also loved Roger, and loving Roger was an activity that took a lot of your time and energy.

Those two sides of your life were usually in friction, conflicting, and sometimes you were scared you’d have to choose. But when you were wrapped around Roger’s arms, it was easier not to think about it. Now, that you were alone, missing class and about to go to work without makeup, with dirty hair and casual clothing just so you wouldn’t have to lie and call in sick - something you had to do many, many times before - it was harder to avoid these thoughts.

Also, you quickly found out that your work at the Sir John Soane’s Museum was uninspiring, unlike it would be if you actually got to work to the British Museum. You were not an Architecture major, but you were hired because your professor was close to the manager, and said you were one of his best students. And you could provide background to the neoclassical art, so it was fine. But it was far from what really got you studying Ancient History, and you were still working there just so you could network your way to the British Museum.

You knew that you could probably use Roger for this, and he would definitely try to help, using Queen’s influence. But just the thought of this made you want to disappear; you were already known in your university and work as The Drummer From Queen’s Girlfriend, and not that it was something that you were embarrassed of - you loved Roger and you were close with the rest of the band - but you wanted to be known as your own person. You even knew that most people thought that you were recommended by your professor for your job because he liked Queen and you arranged for them to meet, which was obviously not true, but if you acknowledged the rumours enough to deny them, they would only get stronger.

And Roger did everything he could to get you out of the spotlight, knowing how much you hated it. Unlike Mary, you weren’t mentioned in interviews, Roger only saying that he’s taken when asked directly, and only saying your name in interviews when he did them drunk. But people always found out you dated him, somehow. And treated you differently as soon as they found out, always being nicer to you, in the hopes they can get something from the band, until they realize you were not gonna do that, and then being cold to you, saying that you were a snob.

You always considered yourself a loner, but dating Roger really took that away from you as a choice; it was now something you had to be. You never knew when someone really wanted to befriend you for your personality or for Roger, so you were not able to trust anyone that came close to you. That distance that you had to keep from others made you even closer to Roger and the band, and that was a bit scary to you - they were all quite different from you. You sometimes craved not having to worry about all this.

But the moments you were with the band and especially with Roger made you hopeful; hopeful that your professional life wouldn’t mess up your love life, hopeful you would get the job you’ve always dreamed of. Both things were deeply associated in your head, your two ultimate goals.

And it was easier to be around them and not think about pessimistic stuff; yesterday night, after you and Roger got back from the woods and went swimming naked on the pond - immediately regretting it when you had to walk back in the cold wind completely soaked - you both showered and went back to the studio, where Roger and Freddie tried to emulate the sounds of an orchestra with their voices for a song called Seaside Rendezvous. You were all outside of the recording booth, laughing as Roger did his best to sound like a kazoo. Usually, you loved to watch Rog as he did a high note or one of his famous falsettos; his control over his voice was always impressive. But now, he sounded like a cat screeching. “It’s a work in progress, dear. You know how it is”, Freddie told you while you laughed non-stop with Brian on the couch.

You got back to reading the book for a while, and as you read “ _I think of Neal Cassady, I think of Neal Cassady_ ”, you realized you just finished reading Roger’s favourite book. You were both always trying out things the other one liked, like it would help you get a better insight to each other. A writer you liked once said that there are questions that haunt every relationship, sooner or later:  _What are you thinking? How are you feeling? Who are you? What have we done to each other? What will we do?_

You always thought about how dramatic that sounded, but it actually made sense to you after being with Roger for three years now. What’s the point of a relationship if not trying to figure each other out and say, with certainty, “ _I choose you before anyone else in my life_ ”? Belonging.  _Relationships are always about trying to belong with someone else_ , you thought.

The bus stopped and you grabbed your duffel bag. You moved to through the station and found your way to the underground, and you looked at your watch as you found a place to sit on the tub. It was a thirty minute ride to your work from where you were, and you were supposed to be in a meeting with an international researcher alongside your boss in ten minutes. “Fucking hell”, you said to yourself, and an old lady looked at you, pursing her lips.

You looked like a teenager, in a button up skirt, a loose Fleetwood Mac shirt tucked in and yellow Chuck Taylors. You definitely didn’t look like a respectful historian about to have a serious meeting.

You got to the museum, accidentally hitting one of the interns with your duffel bag as you went to the locker to store it and brush your hair. You said sorry, but you could still hear her talk to someone else outside the bathroom. “She’s already twenty minutes late. I don’t know how she keeps the job”, the other intern says. “Well, she’s a groupie. This is just her part time job. I doubt she’s ever late to suck Roger Taylor’s dick if he tells her to do so”, the one you hit with your bag says. “I know I wouldn’t. It must be nice to know you don’t have to work, just look cute and have your legs spread open every night and boom, your life is easy. That’s why she doesn’t care if she’s twenty minutes late. She has her boyfriend to pay for anything she wants”, the first one answered.

You wanted to punch them in the face until your knuckles were bruised just to relieve the stress. At that moment, they represented everything you hated about your life; your stupid architecture museum job and the people that will never take you seriously because you’re Roger Taylor’s girlfriend.

But you had a meeting to attend, so you breathed in, looked at your visibly tired face - you wish you had some makeup on - and tied your hair up, so it would look less messy. You went outside, saying  _excuse me_  to the girls, and walked to the room the meeting was being held in.

When you opened the door, you saw your boss, a look of annoyance in his face, but you were soon distracted by the man across his office desk. He had really short hair, even shorter on the sides - that was a bit of a shock to you, used to seeing guys with long hair - and icy blue eyes. He was wearing a plain maroon sweater, his shoulders filling it perfectly, and fitting dark jeans. He also looked older than you - he was probably in his thirties. His smell filled the room and hit you - he smelled like cologne. Drakkar. It was a perfume you haven’t smelled ever since you moved from New York.

“This is my Greek history specialist, Y/N. She’s usually on time”, your boss said, and you shot him a shy smile. “Sorry, I had a bit of a problem with my commute today”, you explained, and you felt the two men analyzing you; your boss was not approving your look for the meeting, and the man was just mysterious. “Y/N, this is the researcher I told you. He works at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. His name is William Antigonos Argyros”, he said, and that caught your attention. Antigonos and Argyros are greek names.

“Or, you know, you could just call me Will. But it’s up to you”, he said, and you had to hold a laugh. But something else caught your attention. He had an accent you knew very well, even though you only heard it from your own lips, nowadays. He had a Manhattan accent. “Sorry for asking, but are you from New York?”, you said, and he shook his head in agreement. “Born and raised. But my parents are greek immigrants, so that’s the reason for the weird names. William was chosen so I could fit in more nicely”, he said with a smirk. You laughed a bit. 

“You sound like you’re from New York, as well. Odd to meet another fellow new yorker in London while talking about neoclassical architecture. But I guess Ancient History was never Manhattan’s strongest suit”, he said, and you agreed. “Where did you study?”, you asked, and he answered. “I actually studied in Greece. It was easier, knowing the language and such”, he shrugged his shoulders. You were admired.

“Mr Argyros is here for his research on Ancient Greece’s influence in architecture. It’s for a new exposition at The Metropolitan” your boss said, and you and Will corrected him at the same time. “The Met”, you said, and looked at him when you realized the coincidence. _This could be interesting_ , you thought to yourself. You really needed a friend - just a friend, you reminded yourself. Just one friend that was actually like you.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not spoiling anything on the notes, but this is my first time getting a bit more *angsty*. Tell me what you think!

**ACT TWO - NIGHT**

“Everything is more intense at night.”

 

_Chapter 13_

Roger woke up with a drop of water hitting his face. He got up and looked out - the sun was barely starting to rise, the rooster hasn’t even crowed yet. But it was raining, or better yet, pouring. The old house always had leaks when it rained. It was one of the many reasons he wanted to get the album ready and get the fuck out this farm.

He got up, moving his bed to the side so his mattress wouldn’t be ruined, and went downstairs to look for a bucket. He found one under the sink, and got back upstairs to see if he could go back to sleep, but the sound of the dripping water annoyed him. He went downstairs, hoping he could maybe watch some TV to go back to sleep. Maybe Doctor Who re-runs; they reminded him of you.

He was thinking about how they would have to step on mud to go to the studio outside the farm house as he went downstairs. He got to the window in the living room to confirm it, but Brian’s voice interrupted him. “Morning, Rog”, he said from the kitchen. “Is the ceiling of your room leaking, too?”, Roger asked, still moody. He probably only got about four hours of sleep.

“Yeah. I bet Freddie will wake up soon because of that. Deacy is probably the only one who will be able to sleep”, Brian answered, pointing his head in the direction of Deacy’s room, on the ground floor.

“I guess it’s karma for us, then”, Roger said, and Brian laughed. “You sound like Y/N. Go get some essential oil while your at it”, Bri commented, and Roger laughed. “Do you want some coffee? I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep again”, Brian offered, and Roger nodded his head yes. “Thanks, Bri. I’ll make some scrambled eggs, then”, the blonde said, getting the pan.

Brian just served the coffee on two mugs when the phone started ringing. “Do you want to pick it up? I don’t want to talk to anyone this early in the morning”, Roger said. Especially because he had a guess for who’s calling. You were probably still sleeping, and so was his mom. And the new label was pissed at them - they were late on the production of the album.

But he still payed attention to Brian as he picked up the phone, in the hopes it would be you. It’s been three weeks since you left, and you couldn’t visit him, as your finals were approaching. You sounded drained on the phone, and he asked you why. Apparently, your work was consuming even more of your time because of some researcher the Museum was partnering with. Roger didn’t really understand, but he just wanted to cuddle you, kiss your shoulders so your neck would shiver and the tension would disappear from them. He wanted to see you.

But the album was late, and the record label was calling almost everyday to hurry the band. Most of the songs were ready, but they needed to finish a few more so the album would really be complete. They spent most of the time in the studio, being there for about 15 hours everyday. But it wasn’t enough, and they were all tense; the bickering becoming more constant, the fights more intense. In a moment he doesn’t feel proud of, Roger locked himself in a cupboard to make sure his song would be the b-side for Bohemian Rhapsody, Freddie’s favourite song he wrote for the album, the lead single. It worked, but it was still a pretty stressful afternoon inside a dark cupboard.

The desire to prove themselves as a band, more than a one hit wonder with Killer Queen, started as motivation for the recording of this album. But now it casts a shadow over the band, the pressure pulling them down by the shoulders. None of them were in a good place, psychologically speaking. The fear of failure served as fuel for them to keep producing, but that took a tool on them, too. They were getting burned out.

Brian picked up the phone, but by his expression, Roger knew it wasn’t you calling. Bri tried to explain himself to whoever it was on the other side of the line, but he kept being interrupted. By that, Roger realized it was the label.

“Now I don’t think that is necessary-” Brian said, but he was quickly cut off. He sighed, and put the phone down. “So they’re still pissed, right?”, Roger said, serving the scrambled eggs. He got way better at cooking while in the farm, since you weren’t there to spoil him. He had to hold a smile, though, so he wouldn’t annoy Brian by looking happy when Bri had to hear someone scream at him for five minutes straight.

“Yeah. And worst, they’re sending someone here to see if we’re really progressing”, he said, and Roger scoffed. “What, we need a babysitter now?”, and Brian nodded.

The two were silent for the rest of the morning, only talking when they had to explain what happened to Freddie half an hour later, and to John an hour after Freddie. “Well, then we better look like we’re producing, right?”, he said, walking out of the door, still in his pajamas. The rest of the band followed him. “We  _are_ producing, Deacon” Freddie said, closing the door behind him.

It was the middle of the afternoon when someone knocked in the studio’s door. Roger was in the recording booth, playing the drums for Death on Two Legs, and he only realized it when he looked up to see if Freddie approved it, but was met with two round, big blue eyes - so blue they were pale, almost grey.

They belonged to a woman he had never seen before. She had shiny, shoulder length chocolate hair and full, round lips. Roger assumed she was from the record label, and she looked a bit older than him. If he had to guess, he’d say she’s 30.

She stared at him with a smirk, and he felt a bit self conscious, realizing he hadn’t brushed his hair in three days and that he was not wearing a shirt, taking it off earlier while playing the drums. He got it off the ground, and put it on as he left the booth.

“Who are you?”, he asked, the door to the booth closing behind him. “I’m the one who’s going to save Queen from being kicked out of its new label”, she said. “Yeah, but that doesn’t say much. What’s your name?” he asked, impatient. She looked at him with a certain interest, but also as if she could see everything about him that he didn’t feel comfortable about: his age, his hair, his posture. He was oddly annoyed at her, but also interested with the way she carried herself; she exudes confidence, wearing all black, smelling like expensive french perfume. It made Roger think about your smell; you always smelled like fruit, fresh and sweet. She smelled completely different: artificial, fancy.

“I’m Poppy Ainsworth. Your label just made all of you my responsibility”, she said, pointing her finger at the whole band. Her nails were long and painted black. Roger thought about your clean, short nails. “Now let’s get to the other house. We have some matters to discuss, and this place doesn’t have enough seats”, she moved out of the studio, and the band shared a look. Now that’s something else for them to deal with. Great. Just great.

They followed her out, and Roger took notice of how she carefully avoided spots where the mud was still wet and soft, her red soled black heels barely getting dirtier as she moved to the house. But something else caught his attention, and that was the car parked besides his Alfa Romeo. “Is this Lancia Stratos yours?” he asked, shocked. “Yeah, I bought it with last year’s bonuses”, she said, smirking again.

He was impressed she liked cars. You never really understood his obsession with cars, just supporting him whenever he was talking about them. Roger felt uncomfortable to compare you to this woman; but he wasn’t consciously doing so.  _Stop it_ , he thought to himself.

She opened the front door herself and sat on the only armchair there was. “Sit down”, she said, and they did so, sitting together on the couch. She instantly had the power in the conversation; the band didn’t say anything as they did what she said. “So, this album is late. Two weeks late. This is costing us too much, and this album was already expensive to begin with. The thing is, I don’t want to know why is it taking you all so long. I don’t care, really”, she said, looking at her nails. “What I care is: your last record sold a lot in the US and Japan, and it had a nice reception here, too. I’ve been listening to your earlier records and I can see the improvement, so there’s no reason for me to believe A Night At The Opera won’t be better than Sheer Heart Attack. So I look at you boys” she said, looking at each one of them individually in the eyes, but looking down to Roger’s lips for a second - he noticed that.

“… And what I see is a big opportunity to make more money. So I already managed to get two extra weeks for you all to be here, in peace, with no one bothering you - but me, of course. I’ll come by when I feel like it to see if the album is really being completed. And if it’s not - if it takes you an hour more than the two weeks I’m giving you - well, you don’t want to displease me. I’m the one trying to help”, she said, flashing them a smile. Her smile was not warm, though. It didn’t go all the way up to her eyes, no matter how white her teeth was, or how her full lips framed them perfectly.

“Sure. Thanks for helping us”, Brian said, and Roger rolled his eyes.  _Always the kind and nice one_ , Roger thought. “Yeah, we also have some other matters to discuss. The lead single, we already chose which one we want it to be”, Freddie started to explain, but she gestured for him to stop.

“I’m going back to London now. We can discuss this after the album is finished - this is where your attention should be. All of it”, she said, looking at Roger. “I’d avoid bringing home anyone who’s not here to help finish this album. No distractions”, she said, now looking at all of them.

“My work here is done. I’ll see you all later”, she said, getting up and walking out of the house. They looked at each other while they heard her car move out of the farm, and laughed. “Now that was something”, Freddie said, laughing. “The crazy people we have to deal with, honestly. I don’t think we’re getting any luckier with this label”, John said, annoyed.

“Well, at least she’s helping us”, Brian said, and Roger scoffed. “Yeah, so she can buy another sports car with the money we made her”, he said, and Freddie looked at him. “She seemed to take special interest in you, Roger”, Freddie noticed, and Roger scoffed. “That means she’s not blind. It doesn’t change the fact that she’s just like our last manager”, he said, annoyed, but even more annoyed at himself for paying attention to her, too.

“I need some time out”, he said, getting up and going upstairs to get his fur coat. “But you can’t do that. We can’t even bring anyone here”, John said, and Roger rolled his eyes as he went downstairs. “I’m not bringing anyone here, for fuck’s sake. I’m gonna go home for a night. I’ll see you all tomorrow”, he said, storming out the front door.

He got to his car, and he felt more calm. Your fresh smell was still there. He was going to see you; you, the only girl he really payed attention to. He didn’t do anything with Poppy; he didn’t knew why he felt guilty. But he was going to see you, and everything was going to be alright.

He felt a fraction of the guilt he felt when he cheated on you. It was one of the worst days of his life, telling you what he did. He didn’t really think about how serious it was when he was with someone else; he missed you, your touch, and there was a girl wrapping herself around him. It was simple instinct to him; he never tried to be loyal to anyone before you.

But when he heard your crying, and imagined you alone in his house - now your house, too - while crying in the dark, he wanted to punch whoever was responsible for making you feel like this. But it was him. He was never more angry or disappointed at himself than in that moment.

And once he got home and saw you, he noticed you didn’t only look sad - you looked guilty. He knew what you did before you even told him, because he would probably do the same thing. And for a split second, he felt angry at you, but it was soon took over by guilt. You did it as revenge, but also, why shouldn’t you? Why should you feel lonely and sleep alone every night when you knew he didn’t do so? He understood you. He then realized the two of you, rock and ancient history aside, were actually very similar.

But now he was on his way back to you, to your cozy home, and he listened to Pale Blue Eyes on repeat, because you once said you always listened to it after you two had a fight, and even though the song was hopeless, it would always make you want to go back to him and his own blue eyes. “But your eyes are not pale, Rog. So I always sing it Electric Blue Eyes instead of Pale”, you told him, and he laughed. The thought of you constantly disagreeing with Lou Reed as you sang along, trying to forgive him for whatever he done - or to realize you should apologize for something you did - made his heart warm.

He got to your house in record time, and the lights were on - you were home. But there was no music playing inside - not a good sign. You always liked to have some music on if you were alone and in a good mood. He opened the door and found you on the couch, looking tired, a mythology book forgotten on your lap as you bit your nails and looked at the wall.

It was the wall full of pictures of the two of you - polaroids of you studying or dancing that Roger took, polaroids of him backstage or cooking that you took. There was some pictures of the two of you, together, that one of the boys or their girlfriend’s took when one of you asked.

“Hey, Y/N. I’m home”, he said, and you looked at him. “Hey, Rog”, you said, but your voice was not warm. You sounded nervous. “Is everything okay? Is it the research that’s stressing you out? Is there anything I can do to help?”, he asked, and you shook your head no.

“It’s fine, Rog. It’s just-”, you said, with a broken voice, and he interrupted you as he hugged you, tightly, as if he was trying to warm you up, even though you were wearing grey sweats in the middle of spring. “What is it? I’m here. We’re gonna figure something out, babe”, he said, and you gave him a shy smile.

“Thanks, Rog. It’s just that my graduation is coming and I got a new job offer. You know that researcher that’s around, right?”, you said, and he nodded. “The one who’s making you work more than they pay you?”, he said, and you laughed a little. “Actually, he’s fine. Cool, almost. It’s my boss who’s trying to get me to impress him, so he can have a closer relation with The Met”, you said, sitting down, Roger playing with your hand as he sat by your side.

“Hm, I think it worked better than he planned”, you said, and Roger smiled. “Of course it did. You’re a genius”, he said, and you shot him a weak smile. “Thanks. The thing is, the researcher talked to his bosses, and I got a job offer. To work for The Met, back in New York”, you said, and Roger smiled.

“That’s wonderful recognition! But you’re not taking it, right? You’re still going to be around, and try to work at the British Museum”, he said, and you looked down. “Right?”, he asked again, and you kept looking down.

“I don’t know, Rog. I don’t know if that is a dream I’m ever going to see come true”, you said, and he noticed as a tear fell down your cheek. He delicately moved your chin up so you could face him, wiping away the tear. “I just don’t see it happening, anymore. I don’t know if I see a future for myself here, honestly. At least professionally. I’m stuck at this job I don’t like, and I already finished my finals. I just have to graduate, now, and I don’t even need to go to the party”, you said.

“But I promised you we’d go. It’s all settled”, he said, not even knowing how to answer you, where to focus. You told him too many things he disliked at once. He didn’t knew where to start.

“Yeah, but maybe they want me there, at The Met, earlier. I have to go to dinner with them next week so we can settle everything. I think I’m taking the job, Rog”, you said.

“But what about us?” he said, and you smiled, but your eyes were red, the tears rolling down your cheeks. “I never see you here in London, anyway. I thought maybe we could make it work if you start to spend your free time in New York with me”, you said, and he nodded.

But you both knew that was not true. He had a bunch of work to do in London - shows, meetings, recording sessions, rehearsals. You always spent that time together, too. He always came back to your shared house at the end of the day, as if he had a normal job.

That would be gone.

But Roger wouldn’t give up so easily on you. He knew you would probably go back to London after a while, too. He hated doing things behind your back, but he would pull every string he could to make your job at the British Museum as readily available to you as possible.

“We can do this, Y/N. I’m not giving up on us”, he said, smiling.

“I’m not giving up on us, either. I’m just giving up on the British Museum”, you said, your voice cracking as you cried a bit more.

“Well, it played an important part in our life, already. It’s what got you here. Got you to me”, Roger said, and you laughed through your tears.

“I wonder if the Sir Hans Sloane, when collecting stuff the brits stole from their colonies, knew he would be responsible for getting a couple together”, you joked, and Roger laughed.

“Probably not. But it’s nice something good like us came out of it”, he said. “I know I’d rest in peace if I knew I got a couple like us together. I’d even go as far to say it was the most important thing he did”, he continued, kissing your forehead, and you laughed as he continued your joke.

But, the next morning, after a late night watching Doctor Who, the both of you were thinking how your goodbye felt more definite than usual.

You watched as Roger moved away from the house in his car.

But from the rearview mirror, it seemed to Roger that it was you who was distancing yourself from him. Until he couldn’t see you anymore; you were gone.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

**ACT TWO - NIGHT**

“Everything is more intense at night.”

 

_Chapter 14_

It was already summer, a month and a half later, when Roger woke up with Ticket To Ride, by The Beatles, in his head. Y/N was all settled to move to New York in the next afternoon, the last month being a nightmare of packing and getting her parents to prepare her room; Rog and you barely saw each other, between Roger wrapping up the album with the band and you moving her things out.

You didn’t pack everything. Your crystals, from your hippier phase, were all around the house, along with your essential oils and incenses. It made Roger sad to see that he missed the part where you gave up on caring so much about these things - he didn’t even knew what you were into now.

Whenever he was home, you was out, working with the researcher and meeting with your new bosses. You never took him to meet them, and he tried not to be bothered, but he was.

He knew he had no right to be mad; he also stopped taking you to Queen promotions. Poppy was in each and every one of their meetings and interviews, intoxicating him with her french perfume, blinding him with her diamonds - she always had them on her, rings, bracelets, necklaces.

She would always find a way to touch him, her long nails and cold hands contrasting with your short and warm ones. She was the complete opposite of what you were right now. She still had mystique - something a long relationship took from both you and Roger. But he always told himself that yeah, maybe he was physically attracted to someone else, but that’s okay - he was in a relationship, not dead! - as long as he didn’t do anything about it. He wouldn’t cheat on you again.

He kept a mental list of all the opportunities he had to flirt with Poppy and didn’t; it was a defensive mechanism, almost as if he was already in a fight with you, trying to argue that he changed, he didn’t cheat. His guilt was already flowing through his body, pumping along the blood through his veins.

He couldn’t cope with the idea of you and Poppy in the same room. You were almost like two sides of him:  _Rog_  and  _Roger Taylor_ ,  _boyfriend_  and  _rockstar_  - and one time he thought, and then censored himself -  _past_  and  _future_. The two of you couldn’t coexist.

The rest of the band noticed that Y/N was absent. When Deacy asked what happened, Roger told him everything - the graduation, you moving out and going back to New York. “Shouldn’t you be spending more time together, then?” Veronica said, wrapped around John. And then Roger looked at the two of them - always in peace, always warm, Veronica always focused on being there for John and very little else - and he knew he would never have that, and he didn’t knew if he wanted to. He always liked how you were independent of him, how you always had your goals and interests.

He noticed how that started to be less apparent in you as you tried to adapt to his life, as you tried to be more like Veronica or Chrissie. You’d be quiet, supportive, trying to fade into the background.

And that was not the girl he met at the pub. The girl who cheered on him watching her.

It was always good to play lovebirds, like you did in the little time you were spending together, and you did love each other. But none of you were in a good place now. Not a good place to make decisions.

Sadly, that’s exactly what the two of you had to do.

_She said that living with me_

_Is bringing her down yeah_

_For she would never be free_

_When I was around._

“Shut up, Lennon”, Roger said to himself, putting the pillow over his head as if it would help muffle the music in his head.

He turned around and realized the bed was empty. You left already. You had a good time last night, a way to say goodbye already, but you were not there to have a last morning with him in your shared house.

You were already in the museum. Your boss told you to spend all your time helping Will in whatever he needed, but his research has been complete for the last two weeks. You were just talking about your childhoods and New York now. Listening to his accent, his lingering fragrance; it made you feel like home.

And you missed being home.

“Yeah, I went to St Jean Baptiste High School. We used to go out with the Loyola boys all the time”, you told him, leaning over the table in which you were both having a Coke.

“Now that’s interesting. In my Loyola days, the Jean Baptiste girls were very shy, very quiet. We had to put in a lot of effort to go out with them”, he looked at you through his long lashes, chewing on his straw.

“Well, that’s cause you’re  _old_ ”, you said, and he laughed. “The sixties were more liberal, you know”, you told him, raising your brow.

A giggle interrupted you two. “Hey, Y/N. Nice song your boyfriend put out… I’m In Love With My Car… Didn’t knew you had weird nicknames for each other”, one of the interns said, and you felt your cheeks blush. She could see that you were talking, quite closely, to another man - you refused to see it as flirting. You wouldn’t cheat on Roger again.

You did spend too much time with Will, more than necessary, but he just felt so familiar and yet so new to what you were now used to. His accent, his clothes, the way he had a scruff - Roger was always clean shaven - and fluffy short hair. You wanted to run your hands through his hair, and you held your fingers down when that happened. It was like trying to stop yourself from rubbing your nose; the desire felt like second nature already.

“I guess we do”, you answered the intern, annoyed that she mentioned your boyfriend in front Will. “But it’s cute that he wrote a song for you… I guess. It’s a bit raunchy, but maybe it’s just how you are”, she said, and left. It hurt you that you didn’t have a song to prove that Roger did love you, very romantically, at least sometimes, but you had to play along with the intern to avoid a more embarrassing situation.

 _He could make things easier for you_ , you thought. But you censored yourself.  _Don’t get annoyed at Roger while talking to Will about your city_ , you answered your own invasive thought.

“Hm, didn’t knew you had a boyfriend”, Will said, a bit cold. “Yeah, I do”, you said, looking down. You could feel Roger’s lips in your neck from last night, and you wondered if Will could see the mark they left.

The thing you and Roger would agree if you ever spoke to one another about your feelings - hell, you didn’t even admit it to yourselves - was that your relationship felt a bit like a terminal patient. The diagnosis was when you took the job, or maybe when Roger decided to move to a fucking farm for months and leave you alone and vulnerable - again. You didn’t knew, precisely, when the end began.

But as soon as it began, you both knew there was no way to save your relationship, just try to make it last as long as possible. The end was inevitable - you were both just waiting for it.

There was some good days - days when you felt like the in the beginning of the relationship, but grayer. There was nothing to be infatuated over anymore. You were growing bored of the parts you liked about each other, deep down. And scared of the new parts you were developing.

Roger was decided to make it a good day when he got off bed. He drove around, thinking of a way to impress you tonight - you were spending your last night away from each other, since the band had to perform in Brussels for some TV show. He invited you because he knew the answer; you couldn’t. You had a last dinner to go to with your new bosses. A celebration. You invited him, knowing he couldn’t cancel the promo. You said it was fine; it was not a goodbye, really. Just a see you soon.

He would still have you around him - the house had more of you in it than it had of him. But you would have nothing to remember him.

So he had an idea.

-

You came home to an empty house. Roger was not there, so you decided to get ready for the dinner. You took a bath, lighting up your rose scented candles, but this time, just for its smell.

You enjoyed crystals and oils and incenses and such because they gave you a sense of control -  _maybe if I put this rose quartz here, the living room will be a space we’re being romantic, and if I light a rue incense in the bedroom, the place will be cleaned of bad energies_  - but now you didn’t believe the universe gave you any opportunity to control your life, to have things your way. You were just trying to live one day at a time, at the moment.

You had no goals, not anymore. You didn’t really knew who you were, now that you didn’t knew where you wanted to go.

You heard a knock on the door, and you lift your head up from the headrest just as Roger walks in. “Hey, Y/N”, he says, holding a small box on his hands.

“Hey, Rog”, you say, and for old times sake, you smirk as you say “Care to join me?”. But you know the answer.

“I’d love to. But I have to go to the label to catch our helicopter to Brussels”, he says. “I got you something for your trip”, he says and he gives you the box.

You open it and find a heart shaped, shiny red crystal pendant on a gold necklace. “It’s beautiful, Rog”, you tell him, and he shrugs. “I wish it was ruby, but yeah… Crystal will do for now. I can switch it for a ruby one later, if the album sells well”, he says, and he brings in the memory of one of the last really, really good days you had. Before the farm and before your job and everything started to go downhill at a faster pace. When he said he wanted to provide for you. That he was in it for the long run.

“No, you don’t have to. I love it”, you say, and you move your gaze to meet his. You were then surprised with a realisation you didn’t have for a few weeks now - how Roger could be sweet, how he’d go out of his way sometimes to show you that he  _cared_ , that he will do whatever it takes to make you happy.

“I love you”, you say, looking at his blue eyes and not thinking about anything else - New York, Will, the fact that Roger barely invited you to spend time with him outside of the house, the fact that you felt like you had no way to make your relationship - or your life - work the way you wanted to. You just saw his eyes.

And you felt like the lost girl who just moved to London and was full of dreams, not only working at the British Museum, but belonging, finding out who she really is. All those dreams were purposely forgotten now, as you gave up on them. But those blue eyes made you remember why you obsessed over this guy,  _this fucking guy_  for over five months. And why you kept fighting for your life with him ever since the moment you met those eyes again, in a stall at Kensington Market.

Because those eyes, when looking at you honestly like they were now, are a powerful sight.

“I love you, Y/N” he said, and his voice trembled a bit as he started to talk again. “But there’s a meaning to it; the heart. I know we’re not in a good moment, you know. I know it. But I refuse to give up on us. I still remember how I felt when it started, how I never even knew I could feel this way with someone”, he said, tears starting to fill his eyes, and you could feel yours mirroring his as he continued. “And I realized that I don’t know if I will ever love someone like I love you. You have my heart”, he said, gesturing to the necklace, “And this little expensive crystal is there so you can feel it with you”, he said, and you wrapped your fingers around them. Because of the steam in the bathroom, it didn’t feel cold. It was the same temperature as you.

“And I know that this is going to be hard, and we’re in for some tough times in our relationship, maybe the hardest ones, but I love you. I don’t want to deny myself from admitting that just so it hurts less if something happens to us. Cause even if it does, you still have my heart, and you can do whatever you want with it”, he said, a tear rolling down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it, so you moved your hand out of the bathtub to do it. “It’s yours to keep”, he completed, and you pulled him for a kiss.

It wasn’t really a long kiss - your lips barely moved. You just wanted to know that the two of you were still there, together, present, at least for that moment. At least for that moment you both agreed to love each other in whatever way you could - you knew this was the end of an era for the two of you. You didn’t knew what would follow it, but you were willing to admit that you loved one another. And, sometimes, this could be enough.

“I have to go”, Roger told you, breaking the kiss. “Can you help me put the necklace on before you go?” You tell him, turning around in the bathtub and twisting your hair up.

He smiled as he helped you. “Beautiful”, he said, and he really took in the sight of you, flushed face as the steam moved up from the bath bubbles to your cheeks, the necklace making your lips more pink.

“Will you take me to the airport tomorrow?” you asked, and he nodded. “I’ll be back before noon”, he told you, giving you a peck on the lips before going out of the door.

And you didn’t know it yet, but just like a terminal patient, your relationship had Last Good Days, or better, Last Good Moments. This was it.

-

Roger laughed with one of the studio heads, a glass of whiskey in his hand and a cigarette in the other, as he watched Poppy watch him from the other side of the hotel bar. She was completely comfortable in her seat, exuding power. This was were she felt comfortable in. She looked like a tigress resting on her velvet armchair.

Her lipstick wasn’t red today; it was almost black, how dark it was.

He couldn’t help but compare it to your lips, always a natural pink, since you never wore lipstick around him. “It doesn’t make sense. We’ll just get it rubbed over our faces”, you told him one time, when he asked why he didn’t see you wearing your red lipstick anymore.

He missed it. He missed how you were before you tried to be  _Roger Taylor’s girlfriend_.

How you were in the beginning.

But now there was nothing he could do but hope things eventually worked out, hope he didn’t cheat on you, hope you didn’t cheat on him, hope the hazy cloud caused by the whiskey didn’t compromise his decisions.

He hated, absolutely  _despised_  doing TV show performances; he hated lip synching and pretending to play the drums. And he hated how you were not there to laugh over his mood, kiss his pout as he’d go backstage.

He tried to keep a conversation with Freddie, for a while, but none of them were in the mood to say interesting things and keep the conversation going. So before Roger could notice, he was surrounded by people from his label.

And that included Poppy, who was sitting by his side - he could feel his skin burning where she touched him, sitting closer than it was necessary - and when she leaned over him to get a lighter on the table by his side, he catches himself watching her, how her cleavage looked so close to him, how soft the skin seemed to be.

He felt an urge to brush his lips over it.

And, filled with guilt, he stormed away from the bar.

-

You were sitting with Will by your side, sipping on champagne as your new bosses told you a story about how they bought an original roman chariot from a farmer in Italy, and how difficult it was for them to rebuild it.

“We spent too much trying to figure out how long should the draught-pole be” the lady told you, and the man completed, “Until we realized it wasn’t so important as finishing the chariot so we could expose it!”, and you laughed. It was nice to spend a night talking about subjects you dominated; you were now used to spend dinners just listening, as people spoke about music and the industry and stuff you didn’t understand.

Will laughed, too. It was a nice view; his sunkissed skin would crinkle around his lips, his bright smile almost blinding you. You looked at his scruff and you wondered how it would feel against your inner thigh - would it chafe it? - when you realized what you were thinking.  _Shut up, Y/N_ , you told yourself, and you could feel the blush in your cheeks.

You order another glass of champagne.

Roger would laugh at your nervous drinking - he’d always tell you to calm down, he didn’t want to spend the night holding your hair up as you threw up in the toilet - but he would always do it anyway.

 _His_  skin didn’t chafe your inner thighs.

You took another sip of the champagne.

“Well, time flies when we’re having a good time, right? We have to go to our hotel already. Our flight leaves first thing in the morning”, the lady told you. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you and it’s going to be a bigger pleasure to work with you, Y/N”, the man said, shaking your hand and then Will’s. “The people you find, Will. You’re gifted”, he says, and then follows the lady outside of the restaurant as Will says “I guess I am”.

You get up, but you feel dizzy. “Shit, I got up too fast”, you say, but Will looks at you worried. “Are you sure?”, he asks, a concerned look on his blue eyes - so pale, so different from Roger’s. “Yeah, my blood pressure’s kinda low, so it happens”, you shrug.

“We can share the taxi home”, he says, and you correct him in under your breath.  _“Cab”_  you say, but he doesn’t listen, and is already on his way out. You follow him; it was late, you didn’t want to ride a cab on your own. London could be dangerous.

As you sit on the backseat, he sits beside you, his fingers ghosting on your thigh as helps you with the seatbelt.

You could feel the shiver on your spine.

-

Roger marches over to the elevators, going inside one, and the doors are already closing when a clutch stops it.

“Almost missed my chance”, he hears a familiar voice purr.

Poppy goes inside the elevator, her high heels clicking, and Roger wonders if she was really talking about the lift.

She stops besides him. Closer than necessary.

The elevator was panoramic, and Roger’s suite was on the top floor. They watched as the city got distant from them, as they were brought apart from the rest of the world.

“Nice view. I wonder if your girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate it”, Poppy said, and Roger felt his shoulders tense.

“I’m sorry?”, he says. “Your girlfriend. I heard you have one. Funny that I never see her around”, Poppy says, clicking her nails against the elevator wall.

“Hm. She’s busy with her own career”, he was able to say, trying not to get distracted by how close Poppy was from him, how he could feel her perfume penetrating his pores.

“That’s interesting. Y/N, right?” she asked, and he nodded. He hated hearing your name coming out of Poppy’s lips - it felt wrong. Not natural. “Kinda sad for you. You could spend some interesting times with people that are around you, you know”, she said, moving closer to him, staring deep into his eyes.

He couldn’t focus enough to answer something. She made him feel like a teenager.

“Someone who’s a bit more like you”, she completed, moving her hands to his jaw.

He felt paralyzed when she kissed him, but he soon realized he was answering her kiss, but not very well - part of him thought it wasn’t right, but a bigger part of him could only taste her lipstick.

And it was the only thing on his mind as he followed her to her hotel room.

-

Will’s eyes stared deep into yours as he asked you about details on your trip, offering help.

You found his eyes distracting, but disturbing. They were so pale you felt like you could see through them, if you tried hard enough.

His mint scented breath hit your face every time he said something, and you felt relaxed at the sound of the familiar accent. He sounded just like home.

“Y/N, I actually decided to listen to some of your boyfriend’s work. Roger, right?”, Will asked, and you felt disgusted. Roger’s name on Will’s voice and accent felt invasive, wrong. “Don’t say it”, you said, moving your finger to Will’s lips.

He looked at you, confused, but soon moved his hands to meet with yours. It was the first time you touched him like this, so close to his lips.

And, very carefully, very slowly, he got closer to you, his eyes on yours, almost asking for permission to kiss you.

You didn’t stop him.

He kissed you, carefully, and you responded slowly, the guilt weighing down on your arms.

You felt his beard irritate your skin, and you thought of that when Will broke the kiss to tell the cabbie to take the two of you to his house.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very very tired - writing this chapter was a marathon of sadness and heartbreak, so forgive me for any errors. This is the last part of act two of BoR, and the next act should start in a few days - probably not tomorrow, though, because I need a break from the heartbreak. But I’m not abandoning this fic, especially when there’s only a few more chapters to go, so don't worry! Please let me know what you think!! I’m so not used to writing sad/angst and I’d love the feedback.

**ACT TWO - NIGHT**

“Everything is more intense at night.”

 

_Chapter 15_

You watched the lilac skies of the early morning as the cabbie made his way to your house. To the house you shared with him.

_Roger._

You felt dirty even thinking about him - the guilt made your insides freeze, as if liquid nitrogen was pumped through your veins instead of blood, making you only a lifeless vessel, a shadow of who you once were.

You cheated before - but this was different. It wasn’t for revenge or anger. It was simply because you didn’t want to be loyal to Roger as much as you wanted to fuck Will at a certain moment.

And you regret it.

You realized how hard you regret it the moment Will put his head on the curve of your neck after he’s done. He only then noticed the necklace you were wearing. “That’s nice”, he told you, and you moved your hands so you could feel the pendant against your skin. It was freezing cold.

You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve the necklace. And much less deserved what it meant.

So you got up from Will’s bed, looking for your clothes, and put them on in a hurry. “Y/N, are you ok?”, you heard Will ask. You didn’t even turn to face him. You didn’t want him to see you crying.

So you stormed off his rented apartment, and you could still feel him inside you as you ran down the stairs of the building.

You walked aimlessly for the whole night. You didn’t want to go to your house. You didn’t want to deal with what you just did. Because the moment you see Roger, you’re gonna have to tell him what you did. And he’s gonna hate you. And you deserve it.

It didn’t come to you how much you wanted to stay with Roger until you realized you ruined everything.

Because, right before sunrise, you realized where your legs took you. Across town. To the pub where you first saw Roger.

It was closed - the building looked abandoned, empty.

You felt just like it.

But you deserve it.

So a cab passed through the streets and you got on it; the sun cleared your mind enough to remind you that you had a flight to catch in a few hours.

And once you got home, passing through your luggage on the corridor, you went to the bathroom and started to brush your hair, the hairdo falling off after sex and aimlessly walking for hours through the wind.

And once your hair moved closer to your face, you felt a different smell hit you. Drakkar. Cologne. Will. He left traces of him on you.

This made you drop the hairbrush, ripping your clothes off and running inside the bathtub. You felt dirty; you could feel Will’s touch on your skin, his sweat mixing with yours, his breath on your face. You shivered at the memory of his tongue on yours.

You only turned on the hot water, and you rubbed your skin with the sponge until it was all red; you wanted to rip the skin off of you and let a new one grow in its place, one that was never touched by Will, one that belonged to a version of you that didn’t cheat on Roger right before moving to another country.

The hot water stinged on your sensitive skin, but you revelled on the feeling. You deserved it.

You used an obscene amount of shampoo on your hair, making sure it smelled like you, not like another man.

Then you got off the bathtub and went straight to the sink, where you brushed your teeth with the same anger. You wanted every trace of Will off of you.

And then you walked to your room, putting on the clothes you decided earlier would be the ones you’d travelled with; they were the most comfortable clothes you had, and putting them on made you realize how tired you were after not sleeping and walking for miles.

Your eyelids weighted a pound each now, and you could feel yourself drifting off, the sunlight giving you a headache.

But the sound of the front door being open woke you up violently.

The guilt froze you.

Roger was home.

-

Roger passed out on Poppy’s bed as soon as he got off her. He dreamt of you - nothing sexual, oddly enough.

It was almost like a memory - you and him under the thin white sheets in your bed, your fruity smell filling the air, and your laugh tingled on his skin. The day was cloudy, and it made the sunlight shine through the sheets in a way that made everything look even dreamier.

But he woke up with the sun burning his face, making him see red through his closed pupils. He got up, and noticed he was in an empty hotel room.

But when he walked to the toilet, he noticed a lipstick there, and the memory of what he did came back to him, along with Poppy’s perfume.

Roger felt dizzy, almost as if all of a sudden he wasn’t stepping in marble anymore - as if someone opened a trapdoor under him and he was just falling down, reactionless.

He ran to the toilet and threw up.

Roger walked straight to his room and grabbed his luggage. He could wait until the label’s helicopter could pick him up, but he didn’t want to face any of his bandmates, or even worse, Poppy.

So he got down to the reception and asked for a cab to the nearest train station, and there he buyed a ticket to London.

On the train ride, he thought about what he would do when he saw you.

He’d tell you the truth, and you wouldn’t be able to forgive him - not again, not right now.

You’d hate him for spending your last night in London fucking another woman, right after he gave you the heart. You’d hate him for confusing you.

But there’s nothing he could do but hope you’d forgive him. Even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

 _Please, forgive me, Y/N_. That was his mantra when he arrived at King’s Cross, and he kept repeating that to himself on the cab ride home.

He didn’t knew it yet, but he had some forgiving to do himself.

-

When the door opened, an odd cold wind brushed over your face, even though it’s summer.

Roger arrived, and you looked up at him.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you-” he said, but you said “Roger, I’m sorry”, and you both stopped.

“What? Why?” he asked, and you started to tear up. “I… Last night, Roger, I…” but you were already sobbing, and he closed the door, moving closer to you. “What?”, he pressured you, but he didn’t touch you. He - for some reason you weren’t really considering - looked guilty, but his shoulders were tensing up. He was getting angry.

“I cheated on you”, you said, and sat on the couch, your head between your hands.

The room was quiet. All you could hear was your sobbing, until you heard a loud  _bam_. You lift your head to see Roger, his hand against the wall in a fist. He punched the wall, and your rose quartz fell off the shelf, breaking in half.

Roger’s face was facing the wall, but you could see his neck, the skin all red. He was angry now.

But when he turned to face you, you realized that he had tears in his eyes, rolling down his red cheeks and falling to his shirt. “With who?”, he asked, his voice cracking.

“Will. He’s a guy from work… The researcher. For the Met”, you told him, and he looked down. “So you fucked a guy that’s gonna work with you right before you left me?” he asked, and you got up, walking closer to him, but not touching him - you still felt dirty, undeserving of him. “Rog, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse for what I did and-”, you responded, but he interrupted you.

“You know what’s worse? I can’t even let myself get mad at you”, he scoffed, still looking down, and you froze as he continued, “because I did the same thing last night. I cheated, too”, he looked up, and his blue eyes caught you.

“You did what?”, you whispered, but you could feel, now that you were closer to him, a weird female fragrance on him, one that didn’t belong to you. “I cheated. I fucked somebody else. Poppy. She’s from the label”, and that froze you. It wasn’t even a groupie - it was a person he saw oftenly, and that he would still see after you moved out.

But you realized it was the same thing between you and Will.

“So this is it, right?”, you asked, and he looked confused. “What are you talking about?”, he looked at you, tears still forming in his eyes.

“The end. Of us.”, you said, moving to the kitchen and calling for a cab. It’s what you’ve been waiting for weeks, but now it was finally here, it didn’t hurt any less than it would if you weren’t mentally preparing for it. “It doesn’t have to be”, Roger said from the living room, and you scoffed, moving some of your bags to the front door.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Roger? I’m moving out. To another country. Home”, you said, and your voice sounded like acid. “This is your home, too”, he said. “We can still try to make it work”, he said, melancholic, quiet, but you were the one angry now.

“Do you think we can? Do you, really? What was the last time we went out together? What was the last time you took me to a Queen event as your girlfriend? Fucking months before you moved into a fucking farm and left me alone here, with a job I hated and an empty house! As you flirted with your producer or whatever the fuck she is”, you yelled, and you could see him getting angry again as you completed, after a deep breath, “If you weren’t already fucking her as I planned stupid trips that to see you for a couple days. You clearly weren’t as interested in coming here that oftenly”, you told him, aggressive, and he started to yell.

“I DIDN’T CHEAT ON YOU BEFORE TONIGHT!!!”, he screamed, “And how about you?? How do I know that you weren’t fucking the stupid researcher before? You never even once took me to any of your multiple dinners with your bosses!”, he said, his face distorted in anger.

“Isn’t it weird that you want me to move to your city in a few months, even though you never even once take me to meet your bosses and colleagues and whatever the fuck, just so I can feel like you really want me to go? Cause I don’t think you do! I don’t think you ever did!”, he screamed, and then sat on the armchair by the window, brushing his sweaty hair strands back.

You didn’t even knew how to respond. Because under all that anger, Roger was hurt. You were, too. You hurted each other too much over the last few months, but the both of you didn’t share it. You were sharing it now, the anger fueling the revelation of your insecurities.

Then you saw a yellow figure outside your house, through the window. The cab you called. It was time for you to go.

“Goodbye, Roger”, you told him, and he looked up at you. “You’re not even gonna say you want me to go? Or that you want to keep trying? Anything!”, he yelled, and you nodded, the taste of your own tears on your lips as you wet them. “I don’t know, Roger. I know I want to go home, now”, you said, and you could feel the heart-shaped crystal on your chest.

“I can’t take this with me”, you said, unclasping the necklace and walking to Roger. You gave him the necklace, and he looked at it, the golden chain dangling from his fingers. “You don’t want it?”, he said, raising his eyebrows in shock, and you could hear how broken he was.

“I’m sorry, Roger.”, you said, opening the front door and pushing your luggage out. “I don’t know if I’m able to deal with this right now. I don’t know if I ever will”, you told him, and you could see as he threw the necklace to the ground, and then a  _crack_  once the red crystal hit the rose quartz. You saw the heart broken in pieces on the ground, and then you looked to Roger’s eyes, red from crying, making his electric blue gaze even more intense in contrast. You closed the door.

He didn’t said goodbye.

-

The cab driver keeps staring at you through the rearview mirror. He’s concerned; you have been sobbing on the back of his taxi for the last thirty minutes.

You feel like your body is just a ball of regret and sadness, and you wish you could disappear.

You don’t want to breakup with Roger, but what else is there to do? You both had an incredible ability to hurt each other when you wanted to, when you didn’t care enough for the other, and that’s too much power over someone else. It’s not right.

It’s not right that you still love him.

You don’t know how to express it, how to make things right - and you don’t know if you should try. If being distant from each other and trapped into your own problems for a few months took you here, your body just a mess of tears, pain and guilt, you don’t even want to imagine what a long distance relationship could do.

You would rip each other in half.

And that’s not how love should be.

You just wished things could be simple, for once, so you could just fuck him in the couch or whatever and pretend the last few months didn’t happen.

But that’s not happening; you’re both too old for this. Too old to pretend just sex could fix everything. The problem was too big, and you only now realized why your relationship was doomed.

You’re too similar.

You both grew bored from one another as you focused all of your attention on your professional lives, trying to make it. To make your dreams come true.

But you gave up. And when you gave up on your dream in a part of your life, you started to give up on everything else - and that included Roger.

 _I don’t even know who I am anymore_ , you think to yourself, and the realization hits you as your sobbing gets worse.

The car stops, and the cabbie hands you a tissue.

“Leaving home ain’t easy, ma'am”, he tells you, and you sob even harder. You just want to go home - but now you don’t even know where that is.

-

Roger kept looking at the broken pieces of red crystal on the floor, for a minute at first, and then before he realized, half an hour has passed.

He had no idea what to do.

He didn’t want to breakup with you - you were now so _integral_  to his idea of who he is that losing you will force him to rethink too much about himself.

He doesn’t want to find out who he is when you’re not around anymore.

He doesn’t want to let go.

So he gets up and picks the red pieces of crystal from the floor - three sharp edged pieces.  _Stupid fucking metaphor_ , he said to himself, cursing his speech about how that necklace was his heart, because now his actual heart felt just like the crystal heart looked.

He puts them, carefully, on top of the dining table, not sure why, or what will he do to the pieces. He just doesn’t want to throw them away.

He calls a cab, and waits for it outside, hoping he can still get to talk to you before you get on the plane - he doesn’t know what to tell you, but he hopes it will be enough.

The cab arrives, and he imagines the scene on his way to Heathrow - you, right before going through security, turning to look at him after he screams your name. You look confused, but happy, as you see him running towards you, and when he finally wraps his arms around you, you just kiss, passionately, until you need to break it to catch your breath. “Please, Y/N, let’s keep trying. Please”, he’d tell you, and you’d smile, nodding. “Yes”, you would say, and you’d tell each other how you still loved one another before kissing again. All would be well.

When Roger arrived at Heathrow, he asked the lady at check in where was the gate to the next New York flight. She told him, but frowned. “The gate is already closed, sir”.

He still walked there, hoping to find you - destiny helped the two of you many times before. Maybe it would help you now, too.

But the gate was closed.

He was late.

-

You thought your eyes were fooling you when you saw a blonde man on the glass wall by the side of the gate.

You just finished settling down on the plane chair, and thought to yourself it was too early to hallucinate with Roger - you wondered if that’s a thing you’re going to carry through your entire life whenever you’re not with him.

But you could see people behind him pointing at him, recognizing him, and you realized it was actually him. He came after you. He didn’t give up.

But the plane was about to take flight, the doors were already closed. No matter how much you wanted to talk to him, touch him - and you did, now - there was nothing you could do. You’re separated by things you can’t control.

He looked up and saw you through the window, and seeing his face wet with tears made you cry again. You just wanted to hug him.

You put your hand on the window, as if you could reach him, but you only feel the cold glass against your skin.

Roger does the same thing - you watch as his big hand is pressed on the glass, the two of you crying, when the plane starts moving.

Roger walks along at first, and then runs, trying to keep up with the plane, his hand still on the glass, but soon the plane is too far and the corridor with the gates is over, so you see him there, standing against the glass, his hand still trying to reach you, until the plane takes off and he’s too small for you to see.

He’s gone.

-

When you arrive in your parent’s apartment in New York - after crying on the plane for hours, until they served you food and you realized how your body was a mess. You haven’t had something to eat or any real sleep in almost twenty four hours, and now you’re shutting off, spending most of the flight sleeping, dreaming of Roger’s teary eyes and broken red crystal hitting the floor on your living room, the noise buzzing through your ears - there’s a message for you.

Roger has been calling since yesterday afternoon, trying to talk to you.

Your parents know something’s not right as soon as they see you on JFK Airport, your eyes still red after all the crying, but they’re smart enough not to pressure you to talk about it.

You read the message - it’s a note on your mom’s writing saying

_“Roger says: I’m sorry_

_Please call me back as soon as you get home_

_I’m sorry_

_Please call me back. We need to talk_

_I’m sorry”_

And the list went on, and you chuckled at the thought of Roger on your phone, trying to dial all the numbers so he could reach you, frustrated when he got one wrong and had to start dialing the numbers from the start.

He’d usually try to get you to dial whenever he had to do an international call - pouting and saying that there’s too many numbers and the dialer is too small for his fingers, and that you’re delicate ones could do a better job.

And of course you’d dial for him, kissing his pout and sitting on his lap as you got the number right on the first try.

“Thank you, Genie”, he’d say, and you laugh. “Dialing a phone number has nothing to do with intelligence, Rog. It’s just patience”, you’d respond, and he would press his lips against yours and say “I don’t have much of that, you know”, and you’d laugh in return, his long index finger being pressed against your lips to make you quiet as the person he was trying to contact would pick up the phone.

But now you were alone in your parent’s apartment, and you had to take the phone to your room to return his call in private. You didn’t knew what to expect, but you didn’t want your parents to listen.

You bit your lips, nervous, as you waited for him to pick up. When you looked out the window, you could see the Met’s roof, and you shivered. A few months ago, you’d never expect to be here now.  _How fast can everything change_ , you thought to yourself. A husky voice interrupted you.

“Y/N?” Roger asked through the phone, and he sounded tired, like he sounded after spending a night without sleeping. “Hey”, you said, your voice cracking.

“Hey”, he answered, and you spent almost a minute quiet. It felt like an eternity. You watched as a hummingbird flew out of your window, going from one of the flowers on your windowsill to the other. Your parents cleaned your room, but the Beatles posters on the walls and the books you read on your teenage years were still there, making you feel inappropriate, old, wrong. The version of you that lived in this room wouldn’t be proud of your recent life choices. She was brave. _I’m a coward_ , you thought.

“How was your flight?” Roger asked, breaking the silence. “It was okay”, you answered, but none of you knew what to do, how to talk about what you really wanted to, or how to fix the situation you were in.

“Where are we?” you asked, and he chuckled. “Well, I’m at our kitchen”, he said, and you interrupted him.

“No, Rog.  _Where are we_?” you asked, and he was silent for a few moments.

“I don’t know, Y/N. I want to make this work, but I don’t know how. I don’t know if we  _can_  make it work”, he whispered.

“I don’t know if we  _should_  try. I still feel hurt. I know you do, too. I don’t know if we should try to make this work just to hurt each other more in a few months”, you said, and you heard him sigh.

“I know”, he said, his voice cracking.

“Cause now we’re gonna really try, but soon you’ll be busy and I will be too, and we’re gonna cheat again, and maybe we won’t even have the guts to tell each other on the phone, and we’ll slowly lose respect for each other for being cheated on without knowing”, you started ranting, the tears forming, “and I don’t want to disrespect you more, Rog, or to be disrespected by you. Because I love you too much for this”, you said, your voice cracking, and you had to pause for a moment before you could continue.

“I know, Y/N. I wish we could make it work. I love. I’ll always love you, you know”, he said, and you could notice he was crying.

“I’ll always love you too, Rog. And that’s why I have to let you go. You’re free”, you said, and you started sobbing again.

“It doesn’t feel right. But I know it’s what we should do right now”, he said, and he sighed. “You’re free, Y/N”, he said. “Maybe someday we’ll meet again, you know. When it’s right for us. Destiny helped us out before, maybe it’ll help us out again”, he continued, but you interrupted him.

“Please don’t say this, Rog. I’m never gonna be able to let go of you if I keep hoping to see you again”, you whispered, feeling as if someone was ripping your heart out of your chest.  _Maybe it will hurt less if I don’t have a heart_ , you told yourself.  _But you still do_ , you could feel your body answer.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to let go of you, ever”, Roger said.

“You will. You’ll meet someone who can travel with you and be with you in every show, all around the world”, you told him, and he scoffed.

“I don’t want that, Y/N”, he said, taking a deep breath. “I want you, but I can’t have you”, he completed.

“And I can’t have you, either.”, you sighed. “Maybe it will be easier if we don’t talk oftenly”, you whispered, and you felt your chest ache.

“I guess it will”, Roger said, his voice cracking again.

“Goodbye, Roger”, you told him, the salt of your own tears on your lips. You were tired of feeling like this, but you didn’t see how you’d feel better.

“Goodbye, Y/N”, Roger said, and then you heard the line go mute.

You left your room, and you passed through your parents, confused, as you walked out of the door.

Your feet took you to Cleopatra’s Needle, seeking for comfort in its age and feeling of permanence as you did when you were younger, but as you looked to the obelisk, you still felt deeply sad.

You didn’t think you were able to find comfort in anything but Roger’s arms, but they’re an ocean away.

And that’s on you.


	16. Chapter 16 - Act Three: Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’re closer to the end! I can’t believe there’s only five more chapters to go. But yeah, this chapter was nice - I’m not gonna say it’s a happy chapter, but it’s happier than the last few ones lol. It’s a chapter that has a bit more of me in it - but it’s still a Reader fic, so don’t worry lol. Please tell me what you think about it in the comments!

_ACT 3 - DAWN_

“It’s the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out”

 

_Chapter 16_

**1977, New York**

The bench under your bum made you uncomfortable, but you were still too lazy to care - you always left the beach like this.

You were on the long, one hour way back to your loft in Greene Street, SoHo, through the good old F train, every inch of the train filled with graffiti. But you could still smell the salt in the air coming from the New York Aquarium Station - the best station to access the Coney Island sidewalk and beach.

There was better, cleaner beaches in the Hamptons, but they were full of annoyingly rich people that think they’re better than the rest. Also, Coney Island held a special place in your heart - when you were a kid, your grandma would take you there, so you could enjoy the sun and the not-so-safe attractions, and your parents would always freak out when they found out that you took the  _unsafe_ subway through the  _unsafe_  neighbourhood of Brooklyn to get to a dirty beach.

But it was always fun. The sun would almost certainly burn your shoulders, and you could never wear any jewelry, but the feeling of being involved by the sea, floating in the water, holding your breath, after spending a couple hours on carousels and wooden roller coasters, would always make it worth it - your grandma always taught you to be brave, that things could be scary at first, but usually worked out. “If it doesn’t make you happier, it makes you wiser”, she’d tell you, and you’d nod, the taste of cheap ice cream on your mouth, the sun warming up your skin.

It was your grandma who figured out that something was wrong with you and made you seek help.

She came by to visit as soon as you called her, right after getting home from Cleopatra’s Needle and breaking up with Roger. She came to your parent’s apartment, complaining about the traffic - she lived in Paramus, New Jersey, now. She moved there in 1973, saying that it was ludicrous she couldn’t grow old with a nice garden on the back of her house, just because Manhattan didn’t have houses with gardens anymore.

Now, once you came back from London, in 1975, she looked at you and immediately knew something was wrong. “Sweetpea, what’s wrong?” she asked, a frown on her face as she got closer to you.

You were lying on the couch in your pajamas, trying to see if you could find a Doctor Who re-run - probably not a good idea, all things considered, but you didn’t just miss Roger, now that he’s away. You missed England, you missed their accents, you missed the way you felt when you first got there. “What, grandma?”, you asked, and she got you to get up, putting her hand against your forehead.

“You’re different”, she said, and you shrugged, “Yeah, I’m older”, and she laughed. “So am I, Sweetpea. And it hasn’t been so long since I last saw you - last year, right? You came here with your hairy boyfriend”, she said, and you tensed up, which didn’t go unnoticed. “Oh. I see. Something happened between the two of you, right?” she asked, and you nodded.

“That’s it. You look sadder. You didn’t look like that before. But… Maybe that’s not it. No, I don’t think that’s it at all”, she said, and you looked at her, confused. “No, Grandma. That’s what happened. I’m sad - I had to breakup with Roger, my boyf - ex-boyfriend”, you interrupted yourself, taking a deep breath before continuing, “ _Roger, my ex-boyfriend_ , so I could get back here”, you said, a cold pain spreading through your chest as the impact of these words hit you.

“But that’s just a symptom. There’s something else wrong there, Sweetpea. Something deeper within”, she said, pointing to your heart. “And that’s what made you sad, what made you break up with that boy. I liked him, you know. He made you happy - I could see it. You were always brave, and that always made me proud. But with him, you were happy - when you came into the room with him by your side, everything got brighter. Your love was like the sun”, she said, fixing a painting on the wall, not noticing how your eyes were tearing up.

“That’s how I last saw you. Brave and happy”, she looked at the painting, satisfied with it now that it was not crooked anymore, and turned to you. “Now you’re neither. What happened, Sweetpea?”, and you choked up. “I don’t know”, you whispered, and she hugged you as you started to cry - she smelled like plums and apples, the things she grew on her garden in Paramus.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the last time she saw you - it was in 1974, and the boys came to America, specifically to New York for a few dates, and you had to come with them - they wanted you to do so. Also, you were dating Roger for two years, and it was time for him to meet your parents.

You came from a small gig in Boston, Roger holding your hand the entire plane ride to New York - he was nervous. You were travelling right after their show, an extra night before the rest of the boys, so you could take Roger to have dinner with your parents.

None of you knew your parents actually organized a dinner party, and invited part of your family - your uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents. Your uncle opened the door to your apartments, surprising both you and Roger. “Hm, hey, uncle Marcus. Where are my parents?”, you asked, and you felt Roger’s grip on your hand tighten as he noticed there would be many more family members for him to meet.

As you walked inside, you whispered to Roger “Relax, Rog”, and he started looking more confident - but you could still feel his tight grip on your hand. He was still nervous.

But everything worked out just fine, actually. Your parents didn’t really approve his looks - Roger was wearing a suit that he bought in Japan, with colorful birds and trees in silk shining against the dining room lights - but your cousins loved it. They loved him, actually, since they knew exactly who he was.

He got more comfortable as dinner went by, joking with your family, and you carefully changed topics once you realized one of your parents was about to ask a question about delicate stuff - money, marriage, kids.

You two always thought about marriage and kids as something distant - you felt too young, too irresponsible to take care of a child. So you took your birth control pills religiously, and everything worked out fine - the promise of children and marriage always there, in the _distant_  future.

After the dinner party, Roger followed you to your room - you’d be spending the night there, since the band’s hotel was booked for the next day.

“Well, this is an interesting look into a younger Y/N”, Roger said, going through your bookshelf. “Frankenstein, Romeo and Juliet, Don Quixote, that’s all pretty smart… 1984, I remember you talked about this book before our first kiss…”, he said, and kneeled down, where your bookshelf was messier. “What’s this?  _Flash Gordon?_ ” he asks, picking up one of the comic books and going through it, and you could see he was trying not to laugh.

“What?”, you said, getting the comics out of his hands. “I used to think Flash was hot. And Dale was pretty cool, too”, you said, and he laughed, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you closer.

“It’s fine by me”, he said, and looked out of your window. “It’s just funny for me to imagine you, a teenager, sitting by your window in this preppy, quite soulless neighbourhood, reading Flash Gordon and thinking of a way out”, he said, and you laughed.

“Hey, I didn’t only do that. I also had sleepovers with girls I never spoke to since we graduated from high school, and went on a bunch of dates with guys I didn’t really like”, you answered, and it was his turn to laugh.

“Hm, doesn’t seem like a very satisfying life to me”, he whispered, moving his lips to your neck, and you nodded lightly. “Did you ever bring them here? To your room?”, he asked, and you laughed. “No, my parents would die. They were quite liberal, but not like that. When I went on a date as a teenager, I had to go to their place later if I wanted some action, you know”, you answered, and he started to move his kisses to your jaw. You knew what he was about to suggest.

“I know, Y/N… So, I’m just wondering, am I the first guy your parents are allowing inside your room?”, he said, his breath on your jaw giving you goosebumps. “Yeah”, you answered, and he kissed under your earlobe. “The first guy to sleep on your bed?”, he asked, and you said “Yes”.

“How are your parents allowing this, miss Y/L/N? Such a nice girl from such a nice family, locked inside her room with a british drummer”, he said, his voice low and husky, moving you closer to your bed. But you wanted to take it slow - it was a special event, indeed.

“Not that I’m trying to break your roleplay, Roger, but we literally share a flat. It would be silly for them to get the guest bedroom ready for you”, you said, and he scoffed, breaking away from your neck and looking at you.

“Yeah, but it would be hotter”, he said, going back to kissing your jaw. “Imagine how hot it would be if I had to wait until your parents slept so I could leave the guest bedroom”, he said, getting you to sit on the bed, “And then I would’ve to walk, very carefully, through the hallway, trying not to wake them up”, he continued, laying you down on your back and moving on top of you, then going back to kissing your neck and cleavage as he completed, “Just to open your bedroom door and find you touching yourself, moaning my name”.

“That would be pretty hot”, you agreed. “Maybe I should get them to move you to the guest room”, you shrugged, teasing him, and he stopped kissing your cleavage just to look at you and say “Don’t you dare”, before kissing your lips.

That night was a bad memory to have running over your head again and again as you laid on your bed every night to go to sleep, alone, a year later, after breaking up with Roger, in 1975.

Your grandma convinced you to seek help, and you tried everything: therapy - your parents looking at you weirdly because getting a therapist was still associated with severe mental illness, meditation, mediums, aromatherapy.

You didn’t knew exactly what worked, but a year after you arrived, now in 1976, you were already in your new SoHo flat, having moved out of the Upper East Side, the neighbourhood you - and Roger - knew that didn’t really have much to do with you, even though it was closer to the Met, where the work was interesting - and where you barely ever saw Will, uncomfortable looks exchanged between the two of you every time you had to see each other.

It was a cold winter day in December 1976 when you got up, your loft nicely illuminated, spacious, the soft light from the snowy day making everything seem more magical. The building was quiet, your artistic neighbours still asleep this early in the morning, and you made yourself some tea - with milk - and opened the window so you could sit on the emergency exit.

The street was also quiet, the only sound being a muffled free jazz, that was probably being played live in a grand piano inside one of the many lofts on Greene Street. It was then, the cold wind making your skin burn under the layers of sweaters, the tea getting rapidly cold, the jazz caressing your ears, when you realized you were not sad anymore.

You didn’t feel that weight on your chest now, when you breathed in, filling your lungs with fresh, cold air, and you didn’t feel like you had no control over your life. You were present, in the moment, and you felt happy. Happy with your life. Happy with yourself.

And you enjoyed this feeling, without thinking much, for as long as you stayed outside on the emergency exit; until you finished the tea, until the jazz player stopped, wherever he or she was.

Once you got inside, thinking about preparing a nice, warm bath, you walked by the phone, and you wanted to call Roger.

You wanted to call him many times before, but you were always desperate, regretting breaking up with him, or sad, just trying to know how he’s doing, how the boys are doing.

But now, you didn’t feel anything negative make you want to call him - you just wanted to let him know that you’re happy again.

But that doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to call him in the middle of the day for him - he probably wasn’t even up yet.

So you went inside the bathtub and just felt grateful for meeting him, for having the opportunity to have him in your life. Now, it was peaceful.

Now, back at the F train to your house from Coney Island in 1977, you’re taken out of your thoughts when you see a blonde head pass in front of you, but you don’t feel nervous anymore - you knew it wasn’t Roger.

You always thought you saw him, especially in 1975, your first year back in New York - always nervous, always imagining that he was just trying to see you, to talk to you, maybe to try to take you back to England with him.

You saw him everywhere, in those first weeks, still in your parents apartment, thinking he might be on you M86 bus to work, or maybe in this fancy cocktail party you attended.

But one time, in 1976, you could swear you saw him on the stairs at the Met as you bought a hot dog from the stands in front of the museum - the guy’s hair was shorter and bleached, just like you saw in the pictures of Roger that appeared on magazines, and he looked confused. But you didn’t really investigate it, though - it was probably just another guy, maybe even inspiring his own look in Roger’s.

Your train reached your station and you finally got back to Greene Street, walking slowly to your building, taking in the view of your street. Now that you’re far from Queen, you can see their importance, their impact on the world.

You watched as songs you saw get written and sung and produced right in front of you became huge hits - Deacy’s song to Veronica reached #1 on the american charts. A song you saw get recorded in a weekend visiting your boyfriend as he worked - that’s how you saw it.

You bought their new album in the end of last year, 1976, A Day at the Races. You loved it - it was probably your favourite, and you didn’t knew if it was because their music was getting better or if it was because this was their first album you could enjoy as a fan, not being involved in how it was made. You liked to watch their TV specials and interviews, feeling grateful that you ever got to be around them, even though life - and your own, unconscious choices, you now realized - took you away from them. From Roger.

You loved You Take My Breath Away and Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, but Drowse truly held a special spot in your heart - maybe you only loved it so much because it was Roger’s, and it sounded like talking to him about his childhood, something you’ve done many times before, but maybe you didn’t love it just because you were biased by your story with Roger. The song sounded more american, and it even made you feel like you felt when you listened to Fleetwood Mac. You smiled at that thought.

Once you got home, you picked your mail and started going through it.

You weren’t really paying attention to it - you were thinking about the Fleetwood Mac show you would attend next week for the Rumours tour, in the Madison Square Garden, when a heavier letter caught your eye.

The paper was soft, creamy beige, and sealed with wax. And then you read what was written over the envelope.

It was a letter sent by the Curator of Palaeolithic and Mesolithic collections from The British Museum.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always write too much when it’s Roger’s POV. This was long!! But I’m quite happy with it. I’d love to know what did you guys think of this chapter - there’s everything here, really; fluff + smut + angst. Also I’m tired and probably didn’t edit this right, so forgive me for any errors that I didn’t notice  
> Warnings: smut inspired in How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days cause like, why not. Fluff too, and overall a feeling of sadness and nostalgia

**ACT 3 - DAWN**

“It’s the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out”

 

_Chapter 17_

**London, 1977**

Roger was moving out.

He spent the last months considering moving out of his flat - he had the money, but he liked the flat. He liked the way the white kitchen would turn yellow in the end of a summer afternoon, when the sunlight hit it just right.

He liked the way the house always smelled like lavender - he couldn’t really remember if there was ever a time it didn’t smell like it.

He liked the unmatching furniture and the old carpets, and he liked the cat that roamed around the neighbourhood - he always left clean water and tuna outside when he was home.

But it was a simple house, one that didn’t really fit his name now - he was a famous drummer with an expressive amount of money on his bank account, and it was weird for the women he brought home to find out that he lived in a pretty ordinary flat.

Also, since they filmed a few videos for News Of The World in his backyard, he knew it would get easier for fans to find out where he lived, so it was better if he just moved out.

So he started looking for a nice, fancy, modern apartment, with window glasses from floor to ceiling and a bunch of space between the all-white furniture. It would fit better with him now.

Now he was finally moving out - putting everything in boxes, organizing what he would keep.

It was easy at first - his clothes, instruments, and movies would all go to his new house.

But a few other things were harder - which books should he take? He hasn’t read Dracula, ever - he just thought the cover art was cool. Should it go to his new place? And he didn’t remember buying a copy of Wuthering Heights, but there it was. Should it go, too? He should probably try reading it.

And he started to move all of the records inside the box - Beatles, Sex Pistols, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, they were all coming. But he didn’t remember getting a Simon & Garfunkel album.

It was only when he found a Fleetwood Mac record that he realized he never threw your stuff out.

Roger never really thought about it - you didn’t break up in a fight, you were still in good terms, even though you never talk to each other, so it’s easier for the both of you to let go of the other.

He kind of always expected you to come back and pick your stuff up - you had your life in London. You couldn’t just turn your back to it and never return -  but you did it anyway. But he still thought that maybe you were just busy, or you couldn’t get in touch with him, and you were still planning on taking it back - it wouldn’t be nice if he just threw it away.

And he felt attached to it, too.

This - the albums and the book - was the easier stuff, things that didn’t scream they belonged to you.

That was separate from the rest. He sighed, and dropped the album on the box - he was taking Fleetwood Mac to his new place.

He walked upstairs, to the bedroom he once shared with you, and on a straw chest close to the window, under layers of duvets and bed linens, was a small box. He opened it.

The box was filled with things that unequivocally belonged to you - there was a copy of On The Road that was filled with your handwriting, your comments and thoughts all over the pages, and a rose quartz broken in half, too painful to look at.

And among some lost pieces of your jewelry he found around the house in the months after you moved, there was the heart.

He got it fixed - the jeweler looked at him, confused. “It will never look the same, sir”, he told Roger, who nodded. “I know. Can you glue the pieces together, though?”, he asked, and the jeweler agreed, but the look on his face made Roger sure that the jeweler thought he was crazy.

It was one of the many stupid things he did after you left, in 1975. He tried to avoid spending time at the house, at first - in his mind, you were still all over the couch, reading, a cigarette hanging from your lips, waiting for him to get home. But once he got there, the house was cold and empty, almost as if it was haunted by the lack of your presence.

So he spent his nights in bars, going out with women that had pieces of you - this one had your round, pink lips, and this other one had a waist like yours, and this girl right here, her eyes are almost the same colour as yours.

But he couldn’t bring them home, to your bed, so he got to the closer hotel and rented a suite so he could fuck pieces of you on other women.

After that, he became an even heavier drinker, trying to function properly when he switched the morning tea for whiskey on the rocks.

His bandmates were careful enough not to address his mood or your absence right away, but when you were gone for two months and Roger kept missing his tempo, they had to talk to him.

“Roger, we’re giving you space to deal with whatever happened, darling, but if you keep messing up the songs in the rehearsals, I don’t even want to imagine what you’ll do on tour”, Freddie said, putting his hand on Rog’s shoulder.

“It doesn’t help that you’re arriving an hour and a half late and drunk”, Deacy said.

“None of you are ever on time”, Roger said, muffled, just so he wouldn’t have to listen to everything in silence.

“I know it’s been hard for you since she left you, Roger. But we need our drummer”, Brian completed.

Roger tried to stop drinking, at least before 5pm., but it was hard. Some days, he still couldn’t cope with the fact that you were gone yet still all around him, your marks and smell and furniture all around the house, even in the cup he was drinking coffee from - it was the one you used to drink on.

So he felt a burst of anger hit him - you were the one to leave, the one who took initiative in breaking up with him, and yet he was the one spending too much money on whiskey so he could handle being without you. He felt the anger through him like a buzz, itching his fingers to break something, and he threw your cup against the wall.

And immediately regret it - he walked closer to it and saw too many pieces of porcelain, and his big, crude hands wouldn’t be able to glue them together. Maybe you could. But if you were here, the cup wouldn’t be broken.

He had to leave the house.

So he drove around, and decided the best place to apologize to the memory of you for the broken cup would be the place that brought you here. The British Museum.

You took him there many times, and you always started the tour with the Rosetta Stone, admiring it as he admired you.

He’d always be turned on by the sight of you, serious yet excited, teaching him about old civilizations and how you always felt conflicted that those artifacts were there, in the middle on London, when they should’ve stayed in the places they were first located unless it wasn’t safe for them anymore, but how you anyway loved the British Museum.

You were so smart - it always amazed Roger how much you knew that he could only imagine.

And it turned him on, him always holding you close, your back pressed against him as you looked at the expositions, walking slowly from an exhibit to other, and you’d stop talking as much, cause you knew Roger’s attention was now on your body, not your words. You were just teasing him, moving even slower, taking more time in places where there was too many people for him to take initiative. He knew what you were doing - it was a game for the two of you.

He’d kiss your neck - one of his favourite things to do, the feeling of your soft skin on his lips, watching you react to him with goosebumps - as you tried to keep focused on the artifacts, and if the room now was empty enough, Roger would slowly turn you to face him, a smirk on his lips as he got closer to you and kissed him.

“You’re so hot when you get all historic with me”, he’d say, between kisses. “Let’s go to the bathroom”, he’d ask, and you’d smirk back, pretending to consider his offer. You followed him to the bathroom many times.

But now he was there, alone, watching the Rosetta Stone instead of you, and he felt like in a dream - those things were so old, so special, and yet the only thing that made them interesting for him was the memories he had of them associated with you.

Now he could really pay attention to them, and he felt calmer when the thought hit him - these things are so old, travelled through land and sea, unsafe, stolen, and yet were still there, right in front of his eyes, almost daring him to complain about his own troubles. Tell me about what makes you feel like you could disappear and I’ll show you how to resist. I’ll show you how to last, they promised him.

And then it clicked. The feeling of permanence you always said you had when you were around these things, how they calmed you down. Roger understood it, now.

So he got back home and picked all the things that made him think of you too intensely, and put it in the small wooden box in front of him now. He stopped drinking before noon.

He started to enjoy museums, too. He’d wake up a few hours earlier now, when they were visiting a new place, and go to any museum they had - even if it was a weird, transit museum, he’d spend 15 minutes there and try to enjoy it.

The boys enjoyed this new habit of his, especially Brian and Freddie, fans of natural history and art museums, respectively.

But it was Deacy who went with him to the Met last year, in 1976, when they were all in New York. He always felt uncomfortable visiting New York, knowing he was in the same city as you and wondering if he should try finding you, but it was hard - you decided to take your name off the phone book, since some Queen fans knew you once dated Roger, and could be less than nice out of jealousy.

So he went to the Met the last time he was there, and Deacy followed him. Roger told himself that he was just trying to continue his tradition of visiting a museum in each city, and the Met was one of the biggest museums in New York.

But deep down, he was hoping to see you. He walked around, not looking at the artifacts as much as he looked at the visitants, trying to find a familiar face. Deacy noticed that.

“You’re always weird when we’re in New York, but now you look crazy. Is this where Y/N works? Are you stalking her?”, he asked, and Roger frowned.

“No, Deacon. I’m just trying to keep my tradition”, but he knew Deacy was right. He kept imagining you walking around, your hair up on a ponytail as you checked the expositions, the statues and the jewelry, your clinical eye looking for something to be repaired, strands of your hair falling off the ponytail.

But he couldn’t find you - the museum was interesting, but he couldn’t enjoy it, always nervous when he saw someone with the same hair color as yours, only to feel disappointed after he saw that they were not you. So Deacy and him left after walking around all of the historical exhibits. The only proof he had that you were still there was your name on the Staff Wall close to the exit, under Curator of Metal Age Collections. He had to stop himself from going back to those collections and spending more time in the room - Deacy would be suspicious.

But it warmed Roger’s heart to see your name there - as if it got him closer to you. After years, he could even remember your fruity smell - fresh, peaches and cherries. Good enough to eat, he laughed at his own bad joke from four years ago. Only four years since you first skipped class together and kissed on a pub. It felt like a past life - easier, happier.

It seemed even further away now that he was moving out of the flat, alone, looking at the most heartbreaking memories of you.

All of the polaroids that once covered one of the walls in the living room were all in the box, too. Roger picked one of them, and smiled when he recognized it. You were looking happy on his family’s backyard, smiling with his mother by your side.

It was 1973 and he took you to meet his family. You were dating for a year, and he loved taking you on road trips around England - not only when they had shows to perform. He liked to see your reaction to the fields and fresh air. “My family never liked to leave New York, unless it was to visit another big city”, you told him once.

And one time he was on the phone with his mom, and she heard you singing as you cooked dinner. “Roggie, what is this?”, she asked, and he laughed. “Y/N, mum. My girl”, he answered. “The american? Did she kept you around? After all this time?” she joked, and Roger scoffed. “Yeah, mum. I can’t believe you expect me to just keep fucking around forever”, he said to annoy her, and she nearly screamed.

“Roger, watch your fucking language!” and he laughed. “I want to meet her, Roggie”, she said, and he thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, sure. I’ll talk to her”, he answered.

You were pretty nervous at first, but you agreed on going. Roger loved driving with you by his side, putting your bare feet on the dashboard (the only person who could do it in his car and get away with it) as you sang to whatever song it was playing - even if you don’t know the lyrics, you’d just improvise something as the song continued, getting Roger to laugh a few times.

You stopped for lunch, getting chips and a coke to share on the hours left on the road. You stopped the music for a while, and read to Roger. You were both reading A Clockwork Orange, just because it was one of your favourite movies.

And once you arrived to his family’s house, everyone was instantly nice with you. You remember to compliment Roger’s mom’s cooking at lunch, which earned you her instant liking, and then you went into Roger’s old room, now the guest room you’d both be staying, and left your duffel bag and A Clockwork Orange.

After that, you wanted to walk around, exploring the city. Roger wasn’t excited.

“We could just use my car and drive around”, he said, tired.

“Rog, you know I like walking around. C'mon, don’t be so lazy”, you asked, pouting.

“Fine”, he said, and kissed your pout. “I swear, you can get me to do anything if you pout”, he told you, and you laughed.

“That’s some useful information. What else? Where should we go in Truro?”, you asked, and he thought for a few seconds before answering.

“Well, I haven’t been here in years. And I spent most of my time on parking lots, drinking, if I wasn’t playing an instrument”, he told you, and it was your turn to kiss him.

“Such a bad boy”, you said, and he smirked.

You ended up walking around the center, a bunch of shops on your way, but you barely paid attention to them as Roger told you some more specific stories about his teenage years, his first time drinking, his first time smoking weed - small things he never told you before.

He was telling you about the first time he ever drove a car once it started to rain. You both went running back to his house, getting soaked as you tried to run without slipping, Roger complaining that you should’ve went out driving.

Once you got to his family’s house, his mom pushed two towels on Roger’s arms and told you two to shower.

As you went inside the bathroom, you looked at your messy makeup in the mirror, the eyeliner and mascara completely ruined after the rain. You cleaned your face on the sink as Roger explained.

“So as far as I remember, the shower is tricky. The hot is cold and the cold is hot, and you need to open one up completely before the other. And if someone flushes a toilet in Falmouth, you’re gonna feel it, cause the hot water will be gone for a few moments”, he told you, getting the shower ready, and you admired his figure through the mirror. He noticed that.

“Everything okay?” he asked, and you nodded. “More than okay”, you said, turning around and facing him, a smile forming on your lips. “It’s just that I like you a lot. You know I love you. But I also like you a lot”, you told him, and he started moving closer to you. “Walking around your city and listening to you for hours made me realize that. I don’t think there’s anyone I like more in the world than you”, you completed, as he stopped mere inches away from your face.

“And I like everything about this house… It’s so happy and full of people. I love the noise, the smells…”, you told him, looking down. “Even the smells?”, he joked, and you laughed, but continued.

“And when your mom hugged me today… She really hugged me”, you said, looking back at him, into his eyes. He smiled at you.

“I really like you, too”, he told you, and you felt like you were about to cry. You were emotional ever since he invited you to meet his family, because it meant compromise. And you were scared they wouldn’t like you, but now they did, especially his mom, and it made you emotional. For the first time, you could really see a future with him - with your own noisy house in a peaceful neighbourhood, full of people, a real family.

“And that’s why I don’t want to see you like this. Smile for me, babe. C'mon”, he said, tickling your waist, and you held a smile. “C'mon. Give me a big smile”, he told you, and you gave him a big, fake smile, and the two of you laughed. “That’s better”, he said, moving his hands so they could cup your face, bringing it closer to his own.

He started kissing you slowly, carefully, as if he wanted to comfort you, to make you feel safe in his arms, caressing you as he kissed you. And it worked.

But you wanted more, so when you both broke the kiss to get some air, you lifted your arms up, inviting him to take your dress off as you smirked. He laughed, but did it anyway. You moved your hands to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. He laughed again, and said “Teenager me would be so proud”, and it was your turn to laugh.

“And why is that?”, you asked, knowing the answer. “Cause I’m about to shag a beautiful foreigner in my shower”, he told you, a devilish smirk on his lips, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him, kissing you again.

You smiled against his lips as your hands unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, pulling them down, at the same time he unclasped your bra, moving his hands so he could cup your breasts.

You moaned when his thumbs rubbed against your nipples, and that made him move one of his hands to your lips. “You’re gonna have to be quiet, my love”, he said, still brushing his thumb over your nipple with one of his hands, as the one that was covering your mouth roamed through your body before pulling your lingerie down.

Now that you’re both undressed, you start to walk to the shower as you kiss him again, and he walks along. Once you’re inside, he presses you against the humid wall, moving one of your legs up to his waist as the warm water hits your skin.

“You’re so beautiful”, he whispers, breaking away from the kiss so he can look at you, your chest moving along your heavy breathing, your body glistening as the water wet your skin.

Then he moved his hand to your core, massaging it, and you had to bite your lip not to moan. You kept biting your lip, hard, as he slid a finger into you, pumping it in and out.

Your legs were shaking, and the one that was holding you on your foot was getting weaker by the second as Roger’s fingers pleasured you.

“Roger, please…” you whispered, and he started to slow down his movements. “What do you want, babe?”, he asked, and you whimpered at the loss of friction. “I want you”, you told him, but he was teasing you. “I’m already here. What do you want me to do? This?” he asked, as he slid another finger into you, and you felt the blood on your mouth as you bit your lips the hardest to keep quiet.

“I want more. I want you to fuck me, Roger”, you told him, and he looked serious - the sigh of you asking for him to fuck you on his shower, hell, the shower where he jerked off for the first time, made his pupils dilate. You watched as his eyes turned darker.

Then he moved the leg that was already on his waist even further up, and he stroked his cock for a moment before sliding it into your core, the taste of blood filling your mouth again as you bit your lips.

His hands moved to your waist as he started to move inside you, and you looked for his lips to help keeping you from moaning. He moved his hands up and down your thighs, and finally moved your other leg up to your waist, giving him even more access to you, making him go even deeper.

But now Roger was alone, four years later, getting hard at the thought of you.

 _This is fucking depressing_ , he thought to himself.

And he spent the rest of the day packing, and slept on the couch you had sex and watched TV on so many times before - the memory of you haunted him again in his last night at the flat.

And the next day, after he helped the moving team take the boxes and furniture to the truck, as he put fresh water and tuna outside for the cat for the last time, he said goodbye to most of the memories of you that would stay inside the house.

From the box of memories, he was only taking the polaroids and the heart - he couldn’t get himself to throw these things out.

As he locked the front door to the flat for the last time, he said something to himself he hasn’t said in years.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to a HAPPY CHAPTER!!! at least its the happiest since like 11??? i hope you guys enjoy it. it was pretty fun to write - god i love payoff

**ACT 3 - DAWN**

“It’s the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out”

 

_Chapter 18_

You could listen to Stevie’s sweet voice as Silver Springs filled your new flat, the boxes filled with your books, the wooden floor covered in your favourite tapestry, the smell of incense in the air. Even though it was raining outside, you had a big, warm smile on your lips - the rain was only another reason for it. You felt home.

You were back in London, a week away from starting your new job in the British Museum. Your biggest life goal, now true. You couldn’t believe it.

It was like all pain and suffering on your way to that moment, that precious moment unpacking your things on your first day back in London, made sense. Life couldn’t be simple and easy all the time - there’s no point in it. But it could be some simple and easy some of the time, like it was now.

You were scared you’d go back to the dark places in your mind you were the last time you’ve been in London, but as soon as you passed through your old neighbourhood on your way to your new flat, you didn’t feel sad - not even when you thought of Roger.

Actually, Roger was all around you.

You wanted to call him as soon as you read the letter in your loft, a month ago, where your new colleague said he admired your work at the Met the last time he visited, and now that the British Museum Curator for the Metal Age Collections was retiring, he couldn’t help but think of you - especially when he did some research and found out that you were already familiar with London, studying and working there years before.

You sat on the floor on your loft, in shock. You wondered if this was real, if this was actually a letter you received. It was the letter you’ve always dreamed of receiving.

And now it was right in front of you.

You felt overwhelmed at first, and ran to the phone. Once you got to it, you didn’t knew who you should call - the phone number in the letter, so you could officially accept their offer? Your parents? Your grandma? Your colleagues?

But before you could realize it, you started to dial the your old number - the number for your old house.

You thought about stopping, but what’s wrong? This was important. Roger was the one who watched you struggle the most to get to this moment; he knew the price you had to pay for it. He paid it himself, too.

It was only fair that he should be the first to know.

But you kept waiting for him to pick the phone up, and you realized how innocent that was - he moved out,  _of course he moved out_. You knew the band was making more money on their new label - they said it in a few interviews. There was no reason for you to think that he would stay in the same flat he shared with you when you were broke students.

You didn’t knew, but if you called a week earlier, he would pick up. Your old flat has been empty for a week when you call, and the neighbourhood’s cat rubbed himself against the closed window as the phone ringed - Roger forgot to take the line off, and the real estate agency hasn’t visited yet at that point.

It was fine, though. You held your memories of Roger with gratitude on your mind - there was no more space for pain. You missed him, sometimes, but it was in the same way you missed being a child on the wooden roller coaster in Coney Island - happy memories that left you with a smile on your lips.

Like when you were on the plane yesterday, going to London, and since the Museum paid for the tickets, they got you a first class cabin - and you couldn’t help but think of you and Roger in their first airplane ride as a band.

“Rog, why are you so pale?”, you asked, and he frowned as Freddie laughed with you. You two were the only ones who’ve been on a plane before, and Freddie was with a pale Mary under his arms. “You’re gonna be fine, my love. Relax”, he whispered, pressing a kiss on top of her head.

Brian was with some other girl you didn’t knew - one of those uncomfortable moments. He was probably in a fight with Chrissie. Veronica and Deacy looked pale together.

But you were more concerned with Roger. He was acting confident, as usual, but you could notice his clenched jaw during the entire takeoff, and how his usually rosy cheeks didn’t have a drop of color. He was scared.

“C'mon, Rog. Planes are safer than cars, you know”, you told him, and you could see him trying to think of something to answer you under all his nervousness. But he kept quiet, only taking your hand onto his as a response.

“Maybe if you get distracted… Let’s play Scrabble!” you said, turning your head so you could look around for the stupid game the boys always played on the tour bus.

“Y/N, you don’t know how to play Scrabble”, he reminded you, and you frowned. “True, but maybe winning will be an even better distraction”, you answered.

“I can think of something else you could do to distract me”, he told you, letting go of your hand so he could run your fingers up your thighs.

“We can hear you”, Deacy said out loud, his eyes closed as he held Veronica, and the you laughed.

“It’s called  _voyeurism_ , Deacon” you told him, your eyes on Roger so you could see his reaction. Everyone laughed, but Roger’s laugh was the one that made your terrible joke worth it.

He winked at you, and then went straight to the bathroom. You got the message, and after a few moments, you followed him.

“Very discrete, the two of you going in separately” Freddie said as you walked to the bathroom.

“Yeah, as if none of us know what’s about to happen there”, Brian told you, and you shrugged.

You weren’t really in the mood for semi-public sex, even though it happened more times with Roger than you ever expected to happen in your life. But you liked how even when he was frightened, Roger was still distracting himself with you. It massaged your ego.

So you got in - the door was unlocked - and was met with Roger’s lips. You smirked as he kissed you. “This fast, Rog?”, you asked, and he had his signature devilish smirk on as he answered “Well, you’re the one who wanted to distract me”, and you pulled him back into your lips by the collar of his jacket.

He tried to put you on the sink, but it made a loud noise, and you were afraid to break it - your eyes wide as you got up quick from the sink after the noise - but Roger just shrugged and held you against the wall.

It was pretty uncomfortable - because of the toilet, Roger’s legs were pressed together in the tiny space on the ground, and one of your legs was on top of the toilet, the other one on the ground, squeezed between Roger’s leg and the door.

It wasn’t long before you felt cramps on the leg that was thrown over the toilet, at the same time Roger tried to get your pants down but couldn’t - your legs had to be spread open for the both of you to fit in that bathroom, and so it was impossible to take your pants down.

He frowned, and soon looked concerned once he saw your face contorted in pain. “Leg cramps”, you told him, and he smiled. “You could’ve worn a skirt”, he said before zipping your pants up. “I don’t think we’re getting  _this_  distracted until the plane lands”, he told you, and you laughed. “I guess you’re right. And how was I supposed to guess you’d try to fuck in the bathroom? Pants are more comfortable for travelling, anyway”, you told him, and he nodded as he opened the door and led you back to your seats.

“This fast? I thought you could do better than this, Roger”, Freddie told him as you sat, and Mary laughed. “Be sure that I can, Freddie”, he was quick to answer, which made you calm. If he was affirming his masculinity in public without second thought, he was relaxed again.

“So we need to avoid the bathroom now?”, Mary asked you, and you were quick to answer, too. “Good luck getting anything done there, Mary. It’s the tightest place I’ve been”, you said, and you could see that Roger was about to make a sexual joke, so you put your hand over his lips.

“What?” he asked once you took your hand off. “I swear I developed a spidey-sense for your bad jokes”, you told him, and he laughed. “Fair enough. C'mon, I’ll teach you how to play Scrabble”, he told you.

This memory would usually make you sad and nostalgic, but now you could only laugh at it. You were both so young and  _horny_ , for the lack of a better word. You always went with Roger’s weird ideas, and it always paid off - he loved the fact that you liked sex as much as he did, and wasn’t embarrassed of it.

And you were even happier now that you made up with your memories, cause you’re having these flashbacks all the time - not only you were back in London, where even a coffee shop could remind you of him, but his face was everywhere - the band has just started promoting their new album, News Of The World, and even though you’ve only been here for a day, you heard their new singles twice each.

They were incredible, as usual - We Are The Champions and We Will Rock You. So different from the style you were used to, but you liked it. And Roger looked amazing in the pictures, as usual.

It did ache your heart, a bit, to know that you were in the same city as the boys -  _as Roger_  - and had no means to contact them. They were around you, everywhere -  _he was_  - but you couldn’t really see him. It reminds you of a poem you read in a bookstore in Alphabet City, back in New York, in a book full of Islamic poetry.

_Unable to perceive the shape of you,_

_I find you all around me._

_Your presence fills my eyes with your love,_

_It humbles my heart,_

_For you are everywhere._

You think you would at least call and say that you’re in town, if you could.

The perspective of seeing Roger - if you could get in touch with the boys - made your heart flutter. You wonder if he’ll always have that effect on you.

After unpacking some of the most basic stuff, like cutlery and places, beddings, etc., you start to unpack your clothes. Then you’re met with the deep blue chiffon of the Louis Vuitton dress Roger gave you years ago - he had the pleasure of taking in the view of you in it as much as he had the pleasure to take you off the dress, and he did it a few times.

You couldn’t get yourself to use it in New York, though. In the beginning, it felt like cheating on Roger again - maybe the dress belonged to him as much as the heart necklace, never really yours to keep.

But you hated moving, and ever since you moved to SoHo, you forgot about it. You didn’t even notice it as you threw all of your clothes - still on their hangers - on the moving boxes to London.

The soft fabric and what it meant for you warmed your heart again - both so pure, so full of love. It was a pity that circumstances and bad decisions separated you, but it was for the best. You didn’t see it then, but now you’re about to start your dream job, and Roger is having not only fame, but the financial success he desired.

You decide to try on the dress, and it still fits beautifully. Then you look at all of the boxes you still have to deal with, and you decide to give yourself a break tonight.  _The boxes can wait, everything can always wait for it’s right time_ , you remind yourself as you get inside the bathtub.

A few hours later, you’re out on your city again. You walk along the street that has your favourite pubs from your college years, many of them that you knew inside out because of how many times the boys performed there.

And you pass through a familiar building - the pub where you met Roger. The last time you saw it, it was closed.

Now it’s filled with people and warm lights, which is good - you didn’t bring a coat, since it was supposed to still be warm enough outside, and now your exposed legs and arms paid the price.

A familiar sound fills your ears as you open the door - The Chain, by Fleetwood Mac. You look inside and realize it’s a cover band for them - the girl who’s doing Stevie’s vocals even copies the way she moves, which is still pretty recent in your mind, since you saw them a few days before going to London.

You head to the bar and ask for a pint, and as you look down, you notice your pint has small ondulations on its surface. Someone’s hitting their fingers against the table in the same beat as the song.

You look to the side, and there it is - there’s a couple people between the two of you, who get up at that very moment - but there are the two hands, full of rings, drumming against the wooden surface.

But as you watch the hands for a few seconds, the realization hits you:

You’ve seen this hands many, many times before.

 _No fucking way_.

You start to look up from the hands -  _and you can almost feel them brushing against your skin again_ , and a cream colored blazer over an open white button up. With the first few buttons undone.

You could recognize his chest and neck anywhere.

And that jaw -  _you still remember how it felt against your lips_.

 _Those lips_ … you have no words.

His eyes, framed by his hair - way shorter! - were wide, in shock.

You realized he was checking you out, too. Again.

He bit his lips as you unconsciously smooth your dress on your thighs.

And then he looks back into your eyes, and his genuine smile makes your body buzz.

“Y/N. I guess you’re not in the mood for rushing things, are you?”, Roger’s voice asks you.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS!!! LONG TIME NO SEE, at least compared to my usual posting schedule. but work has been pretty intense these days, so im really sorry for disappearing :( but IM BACK WITH A LONG ASS CHAPTER and theres only TWO MORE CHAPTERS LEFT TO BED OF ROSES. WTF. it’s been about a month since i started and i cant thank you all enough for the support. now im gonna stop talking cause you already have a long chapter to read  
> Warnings: SMUT!!! HELL YEAH. also theres probably a bunch of errors cause im not revising this chapter in order to post it tonight, so my bad!!!

**ACT 3 - DAWN**

“It’s the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out”

 

_Chapter 19_

“I guess”, you answer, without much thought, and you start laughing as you both get up and move to the seats in front of you, so you can be as close as possible, nothing between the two of you. “This is so surreal. I’m having a hard time believing you’re really here”, you tell him, and his eyes go wide as he answers “Tell me about it”, and takes another sip of his beer.

“I come inside this bar, a bit nostalgic because I’ve moved into a new place, and they’re playing fucking Fleetwood Mac of all fucking things”, he says, and you laugh at the way he says the name’s band, so sarcastic, so ironically annoyed; you didn’t know you missed it so much.

“And I think, well, that’s a huge fucking coincidence, so I get to the bar and  _here you are_. In that dress, too! I’m actually thinking they dropped something in my drink and I’m talking to an empty chair as I’m having a weird acid trip”, he completes, and you’re laughing non-stop, his smile widening at your response.

“Maybe they really did drop something in  _my_  drink, cause it must be an acid trip, it’s too good to be true. Why are you here?” you ask, and he looks confused.

“I live nearby! I still live here, you know. You’re the one who moved out. My acid trip theory makes way more sense”, he tells you, and his smile gets even wider at your response; you’re laughing again.

“You’re right”, you tell him, and you take a sip of your own drink.

“See!! You’re saying I’m right right away! This must be an acid trip. Now tell me, hallucination of Y/N: why are you in London?”, he asks, and you give him half a smile, shy.

“I got a job offer at the British Museum. Sorry I didn’t tell-”, you start apologizing, but you’re interrupted by him as he pulls you into a hug. “I’m so happy for you!! You deserve it, more than anyone else”, he tells you, letting you go of his arms, but you need to catch a breath before you can say anything else.

Roger’s smell of patchouli and cigarettes fills your lungs, and you feel like you’re melting on your chair.

You suddenly remember why you were horny most of the time around him.

_His fucking smell._

And that was not just it - his jaw was more defined, his hair was shorter and bleached, and you had to stop yourself from running your fingers through them; it was even harder now that he broke the invisible barrier of touch between the two of you, the hug proving to you both that the other one was really there.

You noticed that he was looking at your details in close up, too - your lips, your eyes.

“Thanks, Rog”, you answer, and you notice how much you missed saying his nickname to him, his reaction to it - his expression softens as soon as he hears it.

“When did you get here? Why didn’t you call me?”, he asks, and you give him a half smile. “Less than 24 hours ago. I wanted to call you - I called as soon as I got the job offer. It felt right that you should be the first to know, after everything, you know”, you said, and he nodded lightly.

“But you never picked up”, you said, and he sighed. “I moved out of our flat a couple months ago”, he says. “Yeah, I thought so. But how’s everything? How are the boys? The music? Why is your hair so short and bleached? Not that I don’t love it, of course”, you wink, back at your ironic flirting competition without a second thought.

“It’s not that shorter”, he says, holding a strand between his fingers and analysing it for a second. “I just thought I’d look better if I was even more blonde. Didn’t really think much about it. The boys are doing good - we still fight all the time. But I’m very proud of our new album, don’t know if you’ve heard of it”, he said, and you scoffed.

“What do you mean? I’ve been a Queen fan all along. I bought A Day At The Races and everything. And all I’ve been hearing in the radios ever since I stepped foot in the UK again is We Are The Champions and We Will Rock You. They’re both genius, by the way”, you tell him, and he leans closer to you, cupping his own cheek as he puts his elbow on the bar counter.

“I didn’t knew you kept paying attention. I always imagined you trying to forget us, trying to pretend we never existed”, he said, and you didn’t knew if his “we” meant the band or the two of you. Maybe both.

“I tried to avoid it, in the beginning. It was hard for me, and it was even harder cause I knew it all happened because of my choices”, you tell him, and he frowns. “Hey, it was my fault, too”, he says.

“You did take part in it. But it wasn’t all you - it was mostly me, actually. I was unhappy with situations I had little control over, so I accidentally sabotaged our relationship, just to see if I still had control over something”, you tell him. “I didn’t notice it at the time, but I didn’t love myself anymore. You can only give what you have. I couldn’t love you properly and treat you right cause I didn’t even do that to myself at the time”, you complete, and his hand touches yours, intertwining your fingers together.

It didn’t feel sexual, but it did felt intimate. He wanted to let you know he was there for you.

“Do you treat yourself properly, now?”, he asks, concerned, and you nod. “Yeah. Maybe that’s why destiny was nice to us today, bringing us here”, you say, pointing your finger around to show your environment. “Cause maybe we can be good to each other now”, you completed, and he gave you a half smile.

“I want to be nice with you. I wasn’t as much as I could. I was always absent, I barely noticed how much you changed. And once I did, I didn’t try to help as much as I just missed the old you. Our ending is on me, too”, he says, and you can’t help but smile at the situation, how unreal it feels.

“Can we take a walk, Rog? I can’t really believe this is all happening. I need fresh air”, you tell him, and he laughs ever so slightly. “Sure. You and your walks”, he says, and you laugh.

You start walking to a park nearby. The wind is making you shiver, so Roger stops and takes his blazer off to put it on your shoulders, and you open your mouth to protest, about to say he doesn’t have to do that, as you did many, many times before. “I know I don’t have to, Y/N”, he says, “but I want to”.

He takes your hand into yours as soon as you start walking again. You smile as you realize it’s almost as if you’ve never left, but it’s also way better than it was before you left.

You don’t regret leaving. If you didn’t leave, you wouldn’t be having this moment with Rog.

“So you did buy A Day At The Races…”, he starts, swinging your arms in an almost childish manner. “Yeah…”, you answer, and he turns his face so he can look at you. “Is my song still your favourite from the album?”, he asks, and you laugh.

“Of course, Rog. Drowse is actually my favourite song of yours, even though I’m In Love With My Car will always hold a special place in my heart”, you answered, and he laughed.

“So full of yourself, Y/N, just because you helped me record engine sounds”, he told you, ironically, and you scoffed. “Hey, it’s my favourite cause it reminds me of what we did after we recorded stupid engine sounds”, you told him, and he smirked.

“I’m not sure if I remember that. Maybe you’ll have to remind me”, he said, winking, and you laughed.

You arrived at the park, and Roger sat on a bench as you sat on the grass. He looked at you, confused.

“C'mon, Rog. This way we can watch the stars”, you told him, and he scoffed as he sat by your side.

“Sure, Brian”, he told you, and you hit his shoulder playfully. “I miss the boys, too. Heard John had a baby”, you told him, and he nodded. “Yeah, it’s a beautiful kid. Reminded the rest of us how bad we are at relationships and families”, he said, and it was your turn to laugh.

“It’s okay. We all are. Deacy and Veronica are the exception”, you told him, laying down. You took his hand into yours as he laid by your side.

“What are you up to, Y/N? I guess you still like fucking Fleetwood Mac”, he said, jokingly. “Yeah, I went to their Madison Square Garden concert before coming here”, you tell him, and he laughs. “Of course you did. What else?”. “The Runaways”, and you can see in your peripheral vision as he nods. “They’re good”, and you turn to the side, so you can watch him.

“Already back at analyzing my music taste, Taylor?”, you ask, and he laughs, turning to the side so he can face you. “Well, it’s been a while ever since I had the chance to do it. I need to make up for the lost time”, he answers, and you shake your head.

“You’re an asshole”, you tell him, jokingly. “But yeah, I really like some of their stuff, like Cherry Bomb and You Drive Me Wild. There’s also Blondie, who’ll always have my heart, Debbie being a fellow new yorker, even though she’s a new yorker by choice”, you start telling him, but you stop once you notice he blushed.

“Roger Taylor, why are you blushing?”, you ask, and it clicks once he scratched his head and looked away. “Well…”, he started, but then went quiet. You didn’t need him to say anything else. “Oh my God. You had an affair with her, didn’t you?”, and the look in his eyes answers for him.

“I can’t believe it, you lucky bastard!”, you tell him, and he frowns. “What, you’re not jealous?” he asks, and you scoff. “Of course not. I couldn’t expect you to stay pure and chaste after we broke up. You had no obligation to be, nor you were ever pure or chaste to begin with”, you say, and he laughs. “Also, I’d try to have an affair with Debbie, if I ever had the chance, too. So I understand you”, you tell him, and he smirks. “That would be hot”, he says, and you slap his chest.

“Such a cliche fetish, Taylor. I expect better from you”, you tell him, and he laughs again. “Sorry to disappoint you”, he says.

And you stay there, laying in the grass with Roger by your side as you update each other in your lives - he tells you all about Freddie and Mary, and Brian and Chrissie. It seemed as if everyone from the old days but Veronica went away. And he asked you about your work, and New York, and if you still lived on the Upper East - he smiled once you told him you’ve moved out. He told you about the time he went to the Met last year, hoping to get to see you, and you were shocked when you realized you actually did see him outside as you went out to get lunch, but you couldn’t believe it was him, since you were used to seeing him everywhere, knowing it wasn’t really him. You were happy once he told you he liked to go to museums now. And once the birds start tweeting around you, and the sky becomes a lighter shade of blue, nearly lilac, you realize you’ve been talking for hours.

You’ve never felt so exposed to someone - he knew about your worst side, the saddest moments of your life, the most pathetic choices you’ve made - ones that hurt him - yet he was still there, laughing with you, interested in every word you said, caressing your arm over his blazer. You felt like you could be completely honest with him - he’d understand.

“Do you want to go?”, Roger asks as he takes a strand of your hair and puts it behind your ear.

You look down to his lips, feeling the warmth coming from his body, his hands so close to your lips, your cheeks. You want to feel him against you again, and you think he’ll be fine with that.

“Not really. Not now. Do you know what I really want, at the moment?”, you ask, and he nods a “no”.

“I want you to kiss me”, you whisper, and he gives you a coy little smirk as he looks to your lips. “I can do that”, he says, leaning in to kiss you.

And the feeling of his lips against yours, light and airy, made something inside you wake up - something you didn’t notice was gone for long, but now that it’s here again, you can’t believe how long it’s been ever since it was present. An extraordinary feeling.

You didn’t feel complete - you felt complete alone, with yourself. Roger made you more than complete - he made you pour over your edges. He was like the sun - everything with him was brighter, better, more alive, more intense. He gave things the right perspective - not a new perspective, the right perspective. Everything was just better.

Especially you.

-

After a few moments kissing lightly, still getting used to each other’s lips again, Roger kisses your cheek and whispers, his breath leaving goosebumps on your skin. “Do you know what I want?”, he asks, his forehead against yours, and you nod lightly. “I want to go home with you”, he tells you, and you smirk.

“I can do that”, you retort, and he laughs a little as he gets up, offering you a hand. “ _Mademoiselle_ ”, he says, with an affected accent, and you take his hand.

You stroll along the sidewalk, still holding hands, as Roger looks for a passing cab. You just watch, and the sunlight makes his features look more real - he looked too much like an angel, a hallucination, when you were talking at night. Now he was here, a real person, by your side, looking for a cab so he could take you home - so casual, such a thing normal people do, you were sure you couldn’t hallucinate with that. When you daydreamed of Roger, even before you started dating him, it was never this type of casual stuff. Now you understand that these simple moments together are what really makes you care about him so much.

-

He turns the key to open the door to his new place, but before he pushes it open, he turns to you.

“It’s a bit empty… Not every new piece of furniture is here already”, he tells you, and you nod. “I get it. My flat is mostly boxes, at the moment”.

He pushes the door open and the first thing you feel is the sunrise on your eyes, the sun warming up your skin.

You take off his blazer as you get inside, and you can feel his eyes on you as your eyes adjust to the light. You put the blazer on a chair as you walk closer to the other side of the living room, where the entire wall was glass, giving you a perfect view of River Thames and its bridges, looking magical as the sun glimpsed from the horizon.

“This is amazing, Rog”, you tell him, and he says “Yeah, it’s a pretty nice view” from behind you, checking you out. You walk to him and playfully hit him. “Back at your old ways, I see”, you say, and he smirks.

“Only if you let me” he says, and you laugh. You wonder if it’s not weird that you’re both barely questioning if you should do this - go back to each other’s arms so quickly - but you shake the thought out of your mind. You sabotaged this relationship enough, you hurted Roger and yourself enough. Now you decide to just deal with things as they come - if right now, the two of you are interested in being together again, even if it’s just now, so you will be.

“I will”, you answer him, and a smile appears on his lips as your hands move to his hair, your attention now focused on how it will feel on your hands.

But then the phone rings.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake”, Roger complains, and you’re divided between being annoyed and laughing at his response. “I’ll be back in a minute”, he says, turning around and walking to the phone.

He answers the phone, his voice visibly annoyed firing quick responses to whoever was on the other side of the line. “I know. I’ll be there. Now you said I had the week off, so pretend I don’t exist until it’s over”, he says, and then turns it off.

You’re still where you were when he went to pick up the phone, but it felt a bit weird to just go back to it - the phone call ruined the mood.

Roger knew that. So he just smiled and shrugged, saying “I can’t even have a week off without the label calling me this hour in the morning”, and you give him a half smile. Instead of walking straight towards you, he stops by the record player, looking for something in the boxes on its side, until he finds what he’s looking for.

You recognize what’s playing, and it’s something you wouldn’t expect from Roger. It was Bob Marley and The Wailers new album, Exodus - Turn Your Lights Down Low, to be more specific.

You chuckled as he walked closer to you. “Didn’t knew you liked reggae, Mr Taylor”, you told him, and he laughed. “Are you judging my music taste, Y/N? I thought you were better than this”, and he offered you a hand, taking you into his arms so you could sway your bodies to the rhythm of the song. “Also, it’s a pretty appropriate song, if you pay attention to the lyrics”, he said, and you did so as he started to whisper them on your ear, giving you goosebumps.

_“I kept this message for you, girl_

_But it seems I was never on time_

_Still I wanna get through to you, girlie_

_On time, on time_

_I want to give you some love, good, good lovin’”_

His lips went down to your neck, but you wanted to kiss him after hearing those words coming out of his mouth in his husky voice, so you entangled your fingers on his hair and pulled his lips into yours.

This kiss was more rough, it wasn’t romantic as the last one in the park. This one was needy - you tried telling him how much you missed him on it, and so did he. You felt his shoulders under your hands as his hands went straight to your bum.

You chuckled against his lips as he pressed you to the wall, but once you felt cold glass against your back, you pushed him back, slightly. He looked confused.

“Don’t want to test how much your window can take or flash your new neighbours, do we?”, you ask, and he smiles. “If it’s with you, I wouldn’t mind, really”, Roger tells you, but he guides you to his room anyway.

“The bed is not here yet, but the mattress already is”, he says, and you nod. “Guess I really won’t have an option but flashing your neighbours”, you point to the window. “Hey, it’s a pretty tall building. No other building around us is tall enough to really see what’s happening here. Just the sun, the birds and the Thames”, he says, grabbing you by your waist back into a kiss.

This one’s a bit slower, more in sync with the music coming from the living room. You start to unbutton his shirt, sliding it off his arms. You break the kiss so you can look at him, his torso more defined than before. “I missed you”, you tell him, kissing him again, and his eyes flicker to your chest for a moment before he mumbles an I missed you too against your lips.

You moaned when the feeling of his tongue massaging yours was combined with his thumbs brushing against your nipples over the dress. He groaned in response, and one of your hands that were on his neck went to cup his jaw, and you could feel the stubble under your fingers.

He moves his kisses to you neck as you recover your breath, playing with your earlobe as your breathing hitched. He pressed his nose against your skin. “You smell so good. I couldn’t remember it, sometimes”, he told you, and you smirked. “Did you think about me a lot?”, you ask, and he moves away from your neck so he could look into your eyes. “When I was alone, you were usually the one I’d think about”, he said, and you blushed.

This seemed to turn him on even more, as he unzipped the back of your dress and pulled it down, the chiffon making a ruffling sound as it hit the floor. Roger kicked his shoes and socks away as he kissed your cleavage, his lips leaving a fiery trace wherever they touched your skin. “God, you’re so sexy”, he said, pulling you closer by the hip as one of his hands slipped your bra strap off your shoulder, pulling the lace off from one of them as he cupped it.

You move your head back as you moan when his thumb repeats the movement on your nipple, but this time with no fabric between them. He moves his hands to your back and unclasps your bra, sliding the other strap off your shoulders and throwing the bra to the side.

He gets on his knees as he moves his wet kisses down to your stomach, and then closer to your underwear, and you get ready for him to take it off, but he doesn’t, moving his hands to your ankles and moving them to the side, which makes you open your legs a bit wider. You hold onto his hair, a smirk on his lips as you do so, and he starts kissing the inner part of your things, and you groan, annoyed that he’s teasing you.

But he’s actually helping you take your shoes off, and you smile as you realize that. Once you kick your scarpins away, he strokes the sides of your legs until he reaches the elastic band of your lace underwear. He pulls it down slowly, moving his kisses to your lower stomach as they fall off and you kick them away.

You make an annoyed sound when he breaks away from you to take you to his “bed”, the mattress on the ground. You lean into the pillows as he’s on top of you again, and your annoyed to feel the fabric of his trousers against you. “You’re wearing too many clothes”, you complain, and he smirks. “Just a minute, okay, babe?”, he says, and you can’t hold a genuine smile at the sound of your old nickname.

He notices that, pinching your cheeks ironically before going back to kissing you. He doesn’t take long before nibbling your lower lip and then moving his kisses back to your breasts, stimulating one with his thumb on one of your nipples while kissing the other. You can’t help but moan.

Roger then slides the hand from your breasts to your sides, moving it down to your core, stroking you. You groan, and you groan again even louder as he starts massaging your clit. “You’re so wet, already”, he says, and you smirk at him, almost challenging him. What are you going to do about it? you seem to ask, raising your brow.

And he breaks contact with him, making your eyes narrow as you frown, only for them to get wide as his big, callous hands separate your thighs and his lips take the place where his fingers were moments before.

“Fuck, Roger”, you moan, his tongue massaging your clit as he slides two fingers inside you. “God, Rog”, you say, as he continues his movements. You’re pulling at his hair to keep him where he was.

After a few minutes, you pull harder at his hair, and he starts to pump his fingers faster on you. He moans against you as you keep saying his name, and the buzz from it makes you vibrate. That’s enough to send you over the edge, and he breaks away from you after your first orgasm that morning.

He licks his lips as he wraps his arms around you, still shaking from your orgasm. “You taste so good, Y/N. I also missed the way you scream my name, even though it’s early in the morning. I’m happy to wake my neighbours up to this”, he says, but you recovered your breath, and you want to do something you missed, too. So you turn him over so you can now be on top of him, and you kiss him, very roughly, grinding against him and feeling him hard under you.

“Told you you’re wearing too many clothes”, you said as he groaned. You kept riding him with his pants still on, just to tease him, as you left love marks on his skin. You missed it.

But you wanted to feel him against your tongue again, so you got off his lap and unzipped his pants, pulling them down along with his underwear as he sucked a breath. You felt like you teased him enough, but as you positioned yourself, you stroked him a few times, earning more moans from him, but nothing compared to the way he said your name as you moved your lips down on him, pressing a kiss to the tip before taking him completely into your mouth.

You loved the feeling of control having him inside your mouth always gave you, his taste on your tongue as he tugged on your hair to help you find a rhythm. You watched as one of his hands let go of you to tug on the bedlinen by the side of your head.

It was only a few minutes after you started when he pulled you away and onto his lips again. “I was about to come. I want to shag you properly before I can come, babe”, he said, giving you a quick peck before turning you over so he’s on top of you now.

“Sure, Rog”, you say, giving him a peck back. “Can you go slow? It’s been a while, at least for me. A few months”, you shrug, and he gives you a soft smile.

“So guys in New York weren’t that interesting, then?”, he asks, and you smile. “Not that much. Nothing remarkable, really. And plain nothing ever since I found out I’d be moving here again”, you told him, and he smiled. “I’ll make your wait worth it”, he said, and you smile. “You already did. This is gonna be a bonus”, you told him.

You wrapped your legs around him, giving him free access to you while pulling him closer, and you moan at the same time once he starts to get inside you slowly, bottoming out and staying there for a few seconds.

“God, Y/N”, he says, and the way he says your name drives you crazy - his beautiful voice almost sang it to your ears. He started moving slowly, so you could adapt to his size again, and soon he picked up a faster pace, closing his eyes when he cursed, looking down to watch your breasts bounce at his movements, leaving marks on your butt cheeks as he gripped on them.

It wasn’t long before you had your second orgasm with him, crying out his name, which only made his movements faster - he was close again.

You watched his muscles popping under his skin as he thrusted, and you wanted to make him hit his high as soon as possible, since he did it for you twice today. “Fuck, Rog, you feel so good”, you told him, and you could see the veins in his neck popping, his jaw clenching. “Come for me, Roger”, you said, and he pushed into you once more, collapsing over your body later. You ran your fingers through his hair as he recovered his breath, feeling a thin layer of sweat covering your bodies.

“God, I’ve missed you”, he told you, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck.

-

You woke up, the afternoon light blinding you for a few seconds. But even once your eyes adjusted to it, you were confused about your surroundings.

Then you remember everything - Roger.

You’re in his new place, and even though he’s not in bed with you, you can still feel him around you - his smell, the feeling of him inside you.

You get up and pick his button up off the ground, almost second nature - you used to do it all the time. Once you get out, Roger is paying a delivery guy only in his boxers.

“Y/N! You’re awake!” he smiles, shaking the delivery guy’s hand a goodbye and closing the door, and you smile back at him. “Yeah, it’s been a pretty long night”, you told him, and he left the paper bag with the delivery on top of the table before pulling you into a hug, pressing a kiss on top of your head. “Love these long nights that turn into quite long mornings. It’s 2pm, so good afternoon, sunshine, and I got us lunch”, he told you, leading you to the table.

“Great, I’m starving”, you told him, and he got sushi trays out of the bag. “Nice choice. Didn’t think your taste for sushi would continue for so long”, you told him, already eating.

“Didn’t ever think I’d share sushi again with you”, he shrugged, and you smiled. “Y/N, where are we?”, he asked, and you frowned.

“I have no idea. I tried not to overthink us for the last few hours, but you’re right. Maybe we should talk about this”, you said, pointing your finger to the both of you.

“I love you, still”, he said, simply, and you smiled. “I love you too, Rog. I never stopped loving you - we just needed time so we could figure our lives, maybe?”, you asked, and he nodded.

“Yeah, but I’m afraid to rush things now and ruin everything. But I also don’t want this fear to stop me from being with you, if I want to”, he said, and you agreed.

“Maybe we should just do the stuff we want to, no strings attached, no names given for what we are. We’ll just go with it, at least for now”, you said, and he agreed.

“Yeah, about that. I have the next week off before I need to go promote News Of The World, and it will be a month before I’m back here in London again. Then we have the launch party and three weeks of rehearsing before tour”, he told you, and you knew he wanted to compare schedules, know how long you might have together. It happened before, many times.

“I only start working next Monday”, you said. It was a Sunday, almost eight full days before you had to work.

“So we have a free week. I thought about what you just said now, and I have an idea”, he said, a devilish smirk on his lips, the one you knew so well, and you raised a brow. “Enlighten me, then”, you told him.

“You just talked about doing the stuff we want to, just going with it, stuff like that, right? So, at the moment, I just really want to take you to Paris and spend the week with you there”, he told you, and you choked on your food.

He laughed as he helped you drink some sake to get the food down. “So, do you want to go?”, he asked, and you thought about it, still red from the incident.

Your natural instinct was to say no - you had to unpack your stuff, and adapt or whatever, before work. But his question - do you want to go instead of can you go - made you reconsider.

You wanted to go, so you nodded. “Sure”, you said, and then laughed. Life took the most unexpected turns with you, sometimes.

“Really? Great!! I can drive you to your new place so you can pack before we go to the train station and just hop on the next train to Paris”, he said, excited, pulling you in for another hug, and then moving his hands to cup your face. “I just thought it could be fun if we went some country none of us really know and discover it together. Also, it’s pretty romantic, so lots of opportunities to get you turned on”, he winked, and you laughed.

As you felt his fingers brush against your cheeks, you remembered something you wanted to ask, and took one of his hands into your own so you could look at it. “Rog, your hands have always been pretty callous because of the drumsticks, but now the fingertips are, too. Why?” you asked, and he shrugged. “I’ve been playing the guitar a lot, recently”, he said, and you opened your mouth in shock.

“No way! I need to see it”, you told him, and he smiled. “Sure. Right after I take a shower, I’ll take you to meet my Fender. Then you can help me pack before we go to your place”, he told you, pressing a kiss on your lips. “Thank you. Really, thank you”, he said, and you smiled. “Thank you, Rog. I was scared you’d hate me, sometimes. Now go take that shower before I join you and we never get on a train to Paris”, you told him, turning him around and slapping his ass, playfully.

As you heard the shower and Roger’s singing as he showered, you walked to the window, taking in the view.

You were back in London, and back with Roger.

And you couldn’t be happier.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS THIS TOOK SO LONG AND IM SORRY. im actually in another city at the moment and yeah, having free time has been a bit hard - i wrote this mostly on a plane and now im editing it on an uber on my way to class. BUT, theres only one more chapter to go!!! WTF!!!! its so close to the end???? i mean?????? but its been an amazing journey and mostly thanks to you all!! more thanks on the next chapter where im gonna be so cheesy thanking you all, just wait. anyway, nice fun sexy chapter to heal our hearts from the break up and stuff! hope you enjoy  
> Warnings: smut, alcohol, swearing probably. all in good fun tho. probably some errors cause its been a busy week

**ACT 3 - DAWN**

“It’s the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out”

 

_Chapter 20_

**Paris**

You hold Roger’s hand as you wait in line for the immigration officer to check your passports. The activity in itself is something the both of you did many, many times before - you travelled a lot with the band.

But this was different. You were not only alone with Roger, but there was nothing concerning you - his mood, your job, nothing. You feel at ease.

Roger’s idea to go somewhere where none of you knew very well was brilliant. Since you’re outside of your comfort zone anyways, you were both more easy going, not overthinking anything, just spontaneous. You knew the time where you would talk about your relationship and how you want to deal with everything would come, but you weren’t stressing about it. You would think about it once the time came - there was no reason to be concerned now.

Cause now you could only feel Roger’s touch, hear him humming something - you couldn’t believe he was humming  _La Vie En Rose_ , the most cliche Paris song of all times, but of course he was. His shoulders are relaxed, and he brushes his thumb against the skin on your hand. His smell is all around you.

You could really immerse in the presence each other, now. Ever since you left London, where almost everything between you happened, you didn’t really knew anything else - the fields on the window, the french being spoken by the people on the cabin next to yours. So you just laid your head on his lap as he ran his fingers through your hair and told you about the little things you missed.

His eyesight has gotten worse, and now he can’t really do anything without his contacts. He met David Bowie in an award show, and he thought of you - he knew how much you liked him. He still knew all of Fleetwood Mac’s 1974 album songs by heart - he kept the album you left in the old flat.

And also stuff about the boys. John’s kid was a cute, quiet boy, just like his dad, and he didn’t enjoy any of Roger’s songs when he went to rehearsals. Veronica was pregnant with another baby - Roger’s pretty sure it’s a girl. Brian was still thinking about finishing his PhD, but never got around doing it - his schedule is too crazy. Freddie was growing tired of the long hair and clean face, and kept thinking about changing his looks, but couldn’t decide on what he would do. He told you that ever since Freddie and Mary broke up, he started seeing more guys - none of you thought much about it. It was just another aspect of Freddie’s life.

Roger kept writing songs now, even when they were on tour or at home. He was getting annoyed at the “No Synths” rule in the band, and tried to convince them to drop it. But he was happy with the new album - he enjoyed how they simplified the process of writing it, and thought mostly about writing songs they can play live the same way they play it in studio. The last time they did it was in their first album.

You just kept looking up at him, his defined jaw glowing against the sun, his bright blue eyes looking down at you to watch your reaction, your grin once he told you he finally finished writing Sheer Heart Attack, a song he tried to get done and in an album ever since 1974.

And now the immigration officer called you, and you laughed as you watched Roger try to speak french to the guy before taking the matter into your own hands.

And when he asked you what was your relationship with him, you just smiled and said “ _mon copain_ ”.

-

You knew Roger chose the hotel as you packed in London, sitting between all the boxes so he could use your phone. You didn’t pay attention to which hotel he picked, but once you got to the Champs-Élysées, you knew he spent too much money.

You got off the cab at the Four Seasons George V Hotel, a building that was basically a modern castle, and you stared at him, shocked. “Roger, you didn’t do this”, you told him, your eyes wide as you entered the spacious and luxurious lobby, your luggage already being taken to your room as the lady on front desk recognized Roger. “Did what?”, he asked jokingly, raising his brow at you, even though he knew what you meant. “This hotel. It’s too nice and probably a fortune”, you told him, and he shrugged. “Hey, we deserve it. We always did. But now we can afford it”, he winked, and then took the room keys from the front desk.

“C'mon, I want to see how you’re going to react to the Penthouse Suite”, he laughed, and you coughed. “Um, I’m sorry? The what now?”, you asked, and he playfully pulled you into the elevator.

He kept looking at you the whole lift ride, excited and nervous - he wanted you to like it, to enjoy his efforts, to take him back into your life somehow.

When he opened the door and walked to the side, his old genuine smile was back on his lips, and you couldn’t help but smile back, even before taking a glimpse into the room.

And what you saw surprised you - everything looked expensive, but still comfortable. You first entered a huge living room, and every couch looked comfortable enough to sleep in. Then you walked to the bedroom, and the huge bed caught your eye - it was big enough to fit comfortably at least five of you. The bathroom looked like a spa, a huge bathtub in the middle of it, a delicate statue of a woman under the window that overlooked the Champs-Élysées.

You walked to the balcony with Roger beside you, and he laughed when you gasped.

The Eiffel Tower looked back at you, glimmering at the sunset.

You looked at Roger.

“You’re unbelievable, you know.”

He smirked. “I’m just trying to get you in bed, though”, he told you, and you laughed as you walked closer to him.

“You did that when you didn’t have a penny, Rog. You don’t have to get us a huge suite with artwork everywhere and a view of the Eiffel Tower”, you said, bringing him closer to you by his collar as he snaked his arms around your waist.

“I never  _have_  to do anything. I do it because I want to. Because I love you”, he whispered, his breath against your lips, teasing, feeling like the ghost of a touch.

“I love you, Roger”, you told him, moving your hands to the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

-

You held his hand as the cool wind passed through your bodies. It was the next day, and you’ve decided to walk to the Louvre by the side of the Seine.

It would be faster if you got on a cab, but the view of the Seine, the sounds of the city and the smell of pastries and perfume made everything feel even more like a dream. You were still tired from last night, and the night before it - you and Roger were acting like a couple in honeymoon ever since you met again, stolen kisses and arms wrapped around each other, trying to make up for the lack of touch in the last couple years.

And once you were alone, you’d hug and touch and kiss and fuck passionately wherever - sloppy kisses and love bites all over each other, first in London and now here. It didn’t feel like you were together again for only about 36 hours - so much has happened, yet time passed by so fast. It was like you lost touch with reality ever since you looked at his hands on the pub.

When you thought of being alone in New York, it felt like a past life. But the weird thing was how your first years with Roger also felt like another life - you wouldn’t act the way you did again, ever. But you were grateful for both times of your life. You felt like you could never get here, to Paris and to Roger, if those things didn’t happen.

You got to the Louvre and you were surprised at Roger’s interest - he wasn’t simply acting interested while trying to get you to leave somewhere else with him. He was genuinely interested in the art, commenting about each style and dropping trivia about artists.

“Someone has been spending some time with Freddie, I suppose”, you noted, and he gave you a half smile. “Well, the person responsible for bringing culture into my days spend some time away. I had to look for substitutes”, he said, and you jokingly nudged at him.

He still looked at you adoringly once you started talking to him about the excellent state of conservation the mummy was in, or once you started analysing “ _L’Européenne_ ”.

You both kept quiet as you watched the Mona Lisa, only holding hands as you tried to get closer to the painting, dozens of visitors separating you from it. It was a time for reflection, too. The Mona Lisa invited you to think about yourselves, her neutral expression making you wonder - seeing it was one of your life long goals, and now you’re realizing it with Roger. Being with Roger was something else you struggled to achieve, ever since the first time you saw him. But now it was the time to realize dreams - hell, you’ll start working at the British Museum in a few days.

But you got distracted as soon as you got to the Venus de Milo. Roger snaked his arms around your waist from behind you and pressed a slow kiss under your lobe before whispering “You look just like her”.

You felt a goosebump on your neck, but you tried to laugh it off. “I can think of a few things we don’t have in common, though”, you said, and he rubbed his nose on the curve of your neck. “Like what?”, he whispered.

“I’m gonna start the list with the basics: arms”, you told him, and he laughed against your skin. “I can think of a few other things, too”, he tells you, back at kissing your neck. “Yeah? Like what?”, you asked, and he sucks on your skin for a few moments, hitching your breath. “Your skin is softer”, he says, and then lightly bites you, running his tongue over it to sooth it. “And you taste amazing. Everywhere”, he whispers again, and you bite your lips as you feel another goosebump on your neck, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Roger. “And the way you react to me”, he whispered, wetting his lips. "God, it  _kills_  me”, he said, running his fingers over the area where the goosebump was.

It was a public place, but it didn’t cross your mind when you turned around and pulled him in for a kiss, making it deeper as your tongue massaged Roger’s. His fingers brushed over your exposed skin, and you could feel how strong his grip on your waist was, wrinkling the fabric of your summer dress - probably inappropriate. You pulled him even closer to you by his hair, already used to its new length after two nights. It was only when you broke apart to recover your breath that you noticed how you were making out in a public place, and only because Roger told you.

“I know we’re in public and I’m trying to be more discrete now, but all this artwork just made you look even more beautiful, like you belong around them. I just couldn’t hold myself any longer”, he said.

-

The warm water ran through your fingers as you filled the bathtub, only in your robe, as Roger spoke with the concierge on the bedroom. He told you he was getting champagne, but you didn’t see why the concierge would go to the bedroom for it. Anyways, you wanted a warm bath.

After the Venus, you and Roger had a hard time keeping your hands away from each other. So you didn’t argue when he suggested you take a cab to the hotel.

The cabbie was an older man with a very rosy skin, and he barely knew how to speak english, but he sure tried - specially with Roger. You were suspecting he knew who Roger is, and Roger apparently thought the same, an amused look on his face as the driver tried to continue the conversation with him.

He was looking amused for another reason, too. His hands took his time on your legs, his long fingers brushing over your inner thighs, making you press them together as you tried to control your breathing. Roger kept talking to the driver as he slowly moved his fingers closer to you again, and you bit your lips to hold a moan when he pressed two fingers against your core.

You were already wet from all the teasing, and it goes through the lace of your lingerie, wetting Roger’s digits. He took his fingers away from you, and you frown as he rubs his two fingers against his thumb, smirking at you.

Then the driver asks him something and he turns to answer, putting his hand on your knees and then quickly sliding them up, moving them to your core again, massaging your clit for a few seconds. He looks at you so he can see your reaction, and you can hear the driver’s voice as you grip on Roger’s arm so he keeps touching you, pressing your lips together to keep quiet.

He keeps smirking as the conversation with the driver goes on, and you decide you can tease him, too. You move your hand from his arm to his leg, and he moves his gaze back into yours as you move your hand slowly to his inner thigh. His eyes get wider once you run your finger over his length, his cock already getting hard and visible through his always tight pants. The driver called his name so he answers another question, and you wrap your hand around him through the fabric of his trousers.

His breathing audibly hitches and he tries to be discrete by making it into a cough. He answers the driver and then looks at you, but you’re looking forward, innocently. He smirks again and then pulls your lingerie to the side, and, without more teasing, puts his two fingers inside of you. You gasp, and the driver looks at you suspiciously as Roger starts pumping his fingers inside of you.

But then the car stops in front of the hotel.

You take your hand away from Roger and he does the same, feeling like two children who got caught with your hands inside the cookie jar. Roger pulls out his wallet from his pocket so he can pay the cabbie, his fingers still glistening as he holds the leather wallet.

You then walk to your room without saying anything until you close the door. “So, that guy was pretty close to figuring out our little teasing game, huh”, he said, unbuttoning his shirt. “I was pretty close, too”, you said, winking, and he smirked. “I guess you want to go back to where we were before getting interrupted?” he raised his brow.

But you wanted to tease him a bit more. So you nodded a no. “Actually, Rog, I think I want to take a warm bath”, you came closer to him, wrapping your fingers on the back of his neck. “That’s a really good idea, in fact”, he said, and started undoing his belt. But you held his hand in place. “But you won’t join me”, you said, and he pouted in protest. “Not until you get me some champagne. I thought you were gonna be romantic before luring me into bed, Taylor”, you said, and he laughed. You let go of him and turn around.

“Can you unzip me, please?”, you ask, and you can hear him scoff, annoyed at your teasing, but then you feel him slowly unzipping your summer dress, then moving his hands to your shoulders as he slides your dress down.

You’re not wearing a bra, so you can feel the cold wind from the AC on your hard nipples, getting even harder as you felt his lips on your neck once again, his hands pulling your dress down at your hips before it falls to the ground.

Then you move away from Roger’s grasp as you walk to the bathroom, without looking back at him, and you can feel his eyes on you as he watches your hips sway as you walk, only in your burgundy lace panties, your hair cascading on your back.

And now you’re inside the bathtub already, feeling the smell of roses and cinnamon from the bath salts you used, waiting for Roger. You hear the door close, and the concierge is gone.

“Rog? I’m waiting for you”, you say out loud, waiting for his answers. “Actually, I think I’m not in the mood for a bath. But your champagne is here”, he says, and you can hear a fake tiredness in his voice.

“Are you sure you’re gonna leave me here, alone, in this bathtub? I’m gonna have to do something to let the time pass, you know. And you’re gonna hear me do it without doing anything about it?”, you asked with an affected voice. You haven’t teased him in so long, you forgot how fun it was, especially cause he always teased you back.

“As tempting as your bathroom plans sound, I’m also alone here, you know. And your champagne is here. Can’t believe you’re gonna waste it after I got it just for you”, he said, and you laughed. You got up from the bathtub and barely dried yourself on a towel before putting your robe back on and walking to the bedroom.

Roger was sitting against the bed’s headrest, completely naked and rock hard. You moved your hand to your lips and you let out a sigh at the vision. He looked like a greek god - Apollo, maybe, with his golden locks shining against the afternoon sun, his skin glowing under the golden hour lights coming through the window. The bed was filled with red rose petals under him, the smell filling your lungs.

He opened his eyes when he heard your sigh, and he smirked at you. “Get the champagne and come here already”, he said, pointing his head at the table where a Dom Pérignon bottle sat on an ice bucket, and you did so. You climbed on top of the bed and started moving towards him. “Are you suggesting we play with food, Mr Taylor?”, you asked, and he nodded. “Give it to me and I’ll show you”, he told you, and you gave it to him as you sat on his thighs.

He popped the bottle open and some of the liquid poured over the edges. He licked it, looking at you, before undoing your robe with his free hand. He pulled it to the sides, looking at you with admiration as if he was unwrapping a Christmas gift.

You took the robe off and threw it to the side, and his free hand moved to the back of your neck and pulled you in for a kiss. It was a slow, delicate kiss, where Roger tried showing you love, admiration, respect. Not only how much he wants you, but how much he cares about you.

But you pulled him closer to you, moving closer to him, and your bare breasts touched his naked torso, making the two of you moan.

That gave a new sense of urgency to the kiss, and after a few seconds, Roger broke it apart. “Tell me if you want me to stop”, he told you, and you nodded. He poured a bit of champagne above your collarbone, the cold liquid making you shiver, and then Roger’s tongue licked it, warm and wet.

He looked up at you to make sure you liked it, and you gave him a quick nod. He smirked, then poured champagne on your other collar bone, and licked it off again.

As you seemed to like it, he poured champagne between your breasts, licking it off right after and waiting a few seconds to see if you’d protest. He then finally poured a bit of champagne on one of your breasts, right above the nipple, licking you and the drink.

He kept doing it for a while, sucking on your skin that tasted like champagne and cinnamon, the smell of roses intoxicating him.

You broke away from his touch, and he looked at you, confused. “Can I try it?”, you asked, and he nodded, passing you the champagne bottle.

You started above his collarbone, and you could feel him moving under you. You wondered how much he would be able to wait before fucking you, considering he was already hard before you licked champagne off of him.

Once you poured champagne over his chest, you didn’t lick fast enough, and a drop of champagne rolled down on his torso. You leaned in to lick it right before it fell to his pelvis, mere inches away from his cock.

The feeling of your tongue close to his length did it for him - he had to have you,  _right now_. He gripped your hips and motioned them up, and you understood what he wanted, so you got on your knees and stood right above him as he positioned himself on your entrance.

You slowly moved down, feeling him filling you, and you let your head move back as you moan in pleasure, your moan intensifying as you heard Roger’s voice whispering your name.

You started riding him slowly, small moans leaving your lips every time you felt him bottoming out inside of you, but you wanted him to go deeper.

So you got off of him, and he grunted, frowning at you as he saw you on your knees in bed. But once you leaned forward, putting your weight on your elbows, he smirked. “I want to feel you deeper”, you told him.

He moved to your back, spreading your legs a little more so he had better access to you, and you both cursed under your breath as he got inside you again slowly, so you could get used to his size on this new position, his grip on your ass getting stronger once he was completely inside you again.

You moaned his name, and he moved his hands to your waist so he could move inside of you with more control.

He developed a rhythm after a few moments, and all you could hear was the sound of your skin on his and the moaning (and cursing) coming from his lips and yours, too. You could feel yourself closer to your orgasm.

It wasn’t long before you reached your high, crying his name as you pulled the duvet into your fists.

Roger kept thrusting through your high, but once he noticed you were done, he pulled out. “Can you turn?”, he asked, and without much thought, you turned over and layed down, wrapping your legs around his hips.

He gave you a tired smile and then got inside you again, thrusting. “I like to look at you”, he told you, closing his eyes, focusing on his movements. He was like that for a few seconds, and you could see the beads of sweat forming on his face, his blonde locks glueing themselves to his forehead.

As his movements got more intense, you could see he was close. “Y/N? Can I pull out?”, he asked, and you nodded a yes. He liked to do that sometimes, when you could get messy, but it has been so long you nearly forgot.

So he pulled out and his cum fell on your torso, covering your breasts and stomach. He fell to your side and stayed there for a few moments, before opening his eyes and looking at your torso. “Sorry for the mess”, he said, getting up and going to the bathroom. You smiled when you heard the sink open, and your smile got wider as Roger appeared with a warm cloth on your hands.

“I guess this helps”, he shrugged, wiping his cum from your torso carefully. Once he cleaned most of it, he giggled. “Maybe a bath is not a bad idea, after all. Will you join me?”, he asked, offering you a hand.


	21. Last Chapter - 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE LAST CHAPTER. I CANT FUCKING BELIEVE. i feel like before i start my thank yous i could give you some weird trivia on the story. i wrote the entire outline for the fic at a weekend shift at work, where i always have free time. i had some smaller ideas - them meeting at a bar and not seeing again, the whole kensingon-taxi-class thing from the beginning - but there was a sudden burst of inspiration and in like twenty minutes the outline was done, and very little has changed, i mostly just added some more details. also, i imagine the reader as alicia silverstone in the 90s?? idk. i just do. also, the reader thing with new york comes from the fact that i lived there for a while and i miss it so much, so thats why theres so much detail about places and stuff - its my form of revisiting my favourite spots there. also, will (REMEMBER WHEN) was written with sebastian stan in mind, and liv tyler (in her lord of the rings days) was poppy. i did too much research for this fic on queen history, and everytime i had to change something (especially in the first act) so the dates made more sense, it KILLED ME.
> 
> anyway, now the thank yous: SHIT THIS FIC IS SUCH AN IMPORTANT CHAPTER ON MY LIFE. its my first time writing such a long story without abandoning it, and my first time writing fiction in english, so i learned so much!! i was doing some research the other day, and the great gatsby is like 47k words long, and the first harry potter is around 70k words long - bed of roses is around 60k words long. this is crazy.
> 
> it’s also my first story to get this many readers interacting with me, and i’m so grateful for you all!! i thought about thanking you all by name, but i dont want anyone to feel left out so i just want every and each one of you reading these words to know: if you read my story, thank you. thank you for giving me your time of the day, thank you for connecting with what i wrote, thank you for telling me in any way possible that you’ve enjoyed it. thank you. a writer must write, but theres not a lot of joy in talking to an empty room. you filled my small room with warmth and love and there’s not enough words to express my gratitude for you all. thank you.
> 
> about my writing: i plan on FINALLY DOING THE MANY REQUESTS I HAVE IGNORED OVER THIS FINAL ACT OF BED OF ROSES - requests are still open, too! you can go on my tumblr (blondecarfucker) and leave your request on the askbox. ill always post them here anyway! i’m also outlining a smaller roger x reader fic where she’s one of the videographers on the news of the world documentary, so keep an eye out for that!
> 
> anyway i’ll finally wrap up this chapter’s note cause you have the final chapter to read. enjoy my loves
> 
> Warnings: none??? part of their dialogue is inspired by some of my favourite movies and books like her and the wife and almost famous and before sunrise and the fault in our stars and eternal sunshine of the spotless mind and maybe more I DONT KNOW ITS BEEN AN EMOTIONAL RIDE OK I CANT EVEN REMEMBER WHERE DID I PULL THIS FROM EXACTLY. some errors too cause i didnt revise it completely my bad im crying ok

**ACT 3 - DAWN**

“It’s the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out”

 

_Chapter 21_

Roger lit a cigarette in the train cabin, and tried to open the top window, the one you can usually pull open.

“Rog, it’s not gonna open, you know”, you told him as you watched him fiddling with the glass.

“I guess you’re right. Hope you won’t be bothered by the smoke”, he said, taking a puff.

“I won’t if you share it with me”, you answered, and with a half smile on his lips, Roger lifted the cigarette to your lips, and you breathed in the smoke while looking at him through your lashes.

“Don’t look at me like that. Especially if the cigarette smoke is going to leave the cabin sultry and hot”, he told you, and you laughed.

“Yeah, and we won’t do anything about it”, you said, trying to make yourself more comfortable in your seat.

“And why is that?”, he asked, batting his lashes innocently at you, you you lightly elbowed his ribs.

“We need to do something else, something we’ve been ignoring the whole trip”, you said, and he raised his brow. “We need to talk about us”, you told him, and he breathed out, smoke coming out of his nose.

“I guess you’re right again”, he said, then slid a bit down on his seat.

You didn’t think much about talking about your future with Roger while in Paris, so now has to be the time, on a train that will take you to London and to a whole month of Roger being away, promoting News Of The World.

While in Paris, you never talked to Roger about the future, and talks of the past where subtle - you talked about how you felt with the development Doctor Who took over the years, but didn’t think much about the fact that you were separate during years of the show.

You enjoyed the city, but most of all, you enjoyed each other’s presence, not only going to museums, churches and castles around you, following them up with fancy dinners and walks along the Seine, but you also spent time inside the room, in your pajamas, ordering take out from restaurants you found on the phone book, having a hard time trying to speak french as Roger tickled the sole of your feet and kept trying to distract you.

You would always remember the peace you felt as you ate cheap chinese food on Roger’s shirt on the balcony at night, the Eiffel Tower shining over your meal and Roger’s electric blue eyes as he hummed early David Bowie’s songs under his breath, or how at home you felt sitting on the couch, Roger on the floor with his head on your lap, his soft strands on your fingers as you tried to braid them while watching re-runs of I Dream of Jenie, Roger focused, trying to understand the french dubbing until he noticed what you were doing.

“Babe, are you trying to braid my hair? Think I’d look better if I’d look more girly?”, he said, moving his head back so he can look at you.

“Yeah. Always thought so, but I’ll have to keep imagining, since your hair is too short to braid”, you pouted, and he laughed.

“Don’t you like my new hair, then?”, he asked, pouting back, and you moved your head to his level so you could press a quick kiss to his lips.

“I love it, Rog. Especially cause since it’s shorter, it looks even messier after I pull it”, you said, and he smirked. “My favourite look of yours is when you’re all dishevelled after sex”, you winked, teasing him.

“That’s my favourite, too”, he said, turning completely around and pulling you in for a kiss, his hand on the back of your neck.

But now, while in the smoke filled train cabin, you needed to make a few things clear.

“I’ve been avoiding this for a reason”, he said, looking out the window, and you raised your brow, waiting for him to explain. “I have this weird, innate fear of you telling me it’s all good but you don’t want to see me again, or something”, he said, and you gave him a half smile.

“I don’t want to do this, Rog. And I won’t do it”, you told him, and he sighed in relief.

“Even though loving you is a bit complicated, I’ll admit. Especially if you’re me”, you shrugged, and he turned to you, confused.

“Let me explain. I loved your idea for a bed of roses, a few days ago, cause it can exemplify our relationship so well. The roses feel so good against the skin, the smell is so intoxicating, it looks so beautiful - maybe too beautiful, ethereal, even. But then there’s always a few thorns here and there, and they hurt so much when they lodge themselves on my skin, but I’m so intoxicated by the whole experience that I don’t mind - I convince myself that it’s nothing, and even that it’s already part of me already, cause the thorns fit so perfectly on me, on my little stabs made by myself, by my own insecurities”, you say, and he stares at you.

“What I’m trying to say is that every minute that I’m with you always distract me from the issues that come with being with you - the fact that there’s a few expectations that come with being your serious girlfriend, be them always travelling with you while we’re young, or eventually staying home once we have kids, knowing that you’ll eventually cheat on me with a younger version of myself, while I’m too tired of taking care of the babies to even think about my sexual needs”, you said, and you watched him frown.

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this-”, he started saying, but you cut him off.

“Let me finish, I promise it will get better”, you said, fixing your posture as you start again. “But the thing is, I love you. I always have, ever since I started talking to you, you always trying to outflirt me, always seeing me as your equal. You desire me, but you also listen and see me as another human being, you never back down or ignore me if I challenge one of your beliefs, and you never treat me as a trophy-wife-to-be”, you say, and you can feel your eyes fill with tears, but you’re smiling. That’s what you always loved about Roger. He smiled back at you.

“And because I love you, I don’t want to deny myself the pleasure of being with you. I’d rather be in a bed of roses than in an empty bed - or worse, a blank bed, someone being there just so it’s less cold at night. I want to be with you, Rog”, you say, and he pulls you in for a hug, and you hold him back for a few moments before pulling away and looking at him in the eye.

“But also because I love you and I want to be with you, Rog, I don’t want us to try to fit into this type of relationship I just mentioned. I don’t want you to make me the other woman, either, when you eventually find someone so you can settle down, if it’s not me” you said, rubbing your nose. “I guess I want to settle down with you, eventually, as we planned before, but this whole thing - living together and cheating if we’re away for too long - it kills me, and I think it kills you, too. I respect you too much to want to cheat on you again, cause if I ever do and you never find out, I’ll lose respect for you, and the same thing will happen if you cheat on me and I don’t find out. And these are ugly truths, but this isn’t our first time together; we know each other, we need to think about this”, you told him, and he nodded.

“And I need to make it clear that I’ll never be a simple rockstar housewife - I’ll never be able to quit my job and look out for the kids while you travel the world and I make them lunch. I’ll never be able to sit down on a dinner table on some award show with you and when someone asks me what I’ll do, I’ll smile as I say I’m a king-maker. I’m not”, you said, firmly.

“And I’ll never be satisfied with dumb spa and shopping trips as you do the actual work when we travel. If I have to live this life, I’ll resent you, and I don’t want that. I like being domestic with you, but this type of forced domesticity will poison us again - we’re both too wild, too career-focused, for this. We’ve always been similar”, you said, and he gave you a smile as you sighed. “I guess that’s all I have to say”, you shrugged, and he laughed. “Not much, right?”, he said, running his fingers on his hair, pulling the strands back.

“Guess it’s my turn now”, he said, and you nodded, encouraging him. “When I saw you again, at the pub, there was so much that I wanted to say. I mostly wanted to apologize - it got lost as I got infatuated with you again, and tried to get you in bed - you know, usual stuff”, he winked, and you laughed.

“But yeah, I kept looking at you while you updated me on your life, your skin glooming under the stars and the moonlight, and I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things I wanted to apologize to you for. All the pain we caused each other. Everything I put on you. Everything I needed you to be or needed you to say. Cause no matter what - even if you had decided on never seeing me again after all this - I’ll always love you, because we grew up together. And you helped make me who I am”, he said, moving strands of your hair behind your ear.

“I just want you to know that there will always be a piece of you in me, always. Whatever someone you become, wherever you are in the world, however this” he said, pointing his finger to the two of us “works out, in whatever form it might take”, he said, sighing “I’ll always send you love. Before being anything else to me - and I hope to God you’re always something more - you’ll always be my friend, to the end”, he told you, and the tears were already streaming down your cheeks. His cheeks soon mirrored yours.

“And now, after you so eloquently told me all your fears about our future, I need you to know something else, too”, he said, as you wiped the tears under your eyes. “I always loved you for being the way you are. You always challenge me, you always make me work harder, try harder, to be better. And it’s not even something you force me to do; I just follow your lead. The way you look was what first got into me, I won’t lie, but the way you are is what made me stay. It’s what will always make me stay”, he said, a genuine smile on his lips. He made you feel warm, like the sun.

“You’re the smartest person I know, you’re funny, you enjoy sex, you’re unapologetic, you’re proud of who you are, even proud of your insecurities. And you have such a huge importance in my life: you made me who I am. Whatever way you want to make us work, I trust you. I just want to be with you, in whatever form it takes”, he said, smiling, and then getting up and opening his bag.

“I forgot to give you something”, he said, pulling a string out of the front pocket. You recognized the red glimmer. It was the heart necklace. “It’s still yours to keep. Even though it’s not in its original glory, it will always be yours. The necklace and my heart”, he said, and you couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Always so cheesy, Taylor”, you said, joking as you moved your hair to the side so he could put the necklace on.

“You always loved it”, he winked, and you laughed. “I do”, you said, smiling.

“So, what does it all mean? Where are we?”, you asked, and he shrugged. “Wherever you want us to be. I just hope that you keep me around”, he told you sincerely.

“I will. So, we’re not going back to our old ways, right? We’re not back at sharing a flat and stuff”, you said, and he nodded. “Sure”.

“And you’re going to spend a month away, all around the world. I don’t want you to feel pressured not to cheat”, you said, and he nodded again.

“Yeah, and you’re back in London, starting a new job. I don’t want you to be worried, too”, he said.

“So, maybe no exclusivity, this time? At least not now. This is still debatable, in the future”, you said, and he agreed.

“Makes sense. But I’ll have a hard time desiring anyone but you”, Roger said in a low voice, and you laughed to break any mood that might have settled. You needed to get things clear before making out in the train cabin.

“Me too, Rog. But I don’t want to create any expectations of loyalty because we know each other too well, and I don’t want a stupid fight to break this thing we’re building together”, you said.

“It’s a good idea. So, no titles, too? I can’t call you my girlfriend?”, he said, and you laughed.

“You can, if you want to”, you told him, and he pulled you closer to him.

“Good, cause I want to call you that on the News of the World launch party, that I’m hoping you’ll go as my date”, he said, pressing a kiss on top of your head, breathing in your fruity smell.

“Of course I’ll go. I need to see the boys again”, you told him, and he laughed.

“So you’re not going for me, then?”, he pouted, and you laughed again.

“No, I’m just going so I can meet Deacy’s kid”, you told him, and it was his turn to laugh.

-

Once you got to London, Roger offered to go to the airport alone - he had to get on his flight, and he was late. He knew you had to go home and get ready for work tomorrow, but you wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.

He looked relieved when you got on a cab with him to Heathrow.

“Big day tomorrow, huh”, he said, rubbing your arm.

“Yeah, I still can’t believe I’m finally going to work at the British Museum. It’s so surreal, it feels like a dream. Like I’m living someone else’s life”, you said, looking out at the window, the early sunday morning reminding you of fresh starts - you were in the middle of one.

“Well, it’s your life, and it’s your job, cause you deserve it, babe. I never met someone who worked so hard to get where they want”, Roger said, smiling, proud.

“I did. You and the boys”, you said, and he huffed. “Guess you’re right. Me and that pack of idiots, we turned out okay”, he joked.

Once you got to the airport, you followed him to his gate.

You were feeling nervous - you had him for a week, and now it’s time to say goodbye again.

You’re both aware that the rest of the band is already waiting impatiently in the jet, but you can’t help it - you hug him, dropping your luggage on the floor, and he does the same, the hug soon turning into a kiss as you rub your hands on each other’s body, as if you’re trying to remember how every inch of the other feels like, as if you’re both about to disappear.

But the airport worker clears her throat, and you break the kiss, looking at each other longingly.

“Don’t say goodbye”, you beg Roger, putting your hand on his lips as he opens his mouth.

“See you soon”, he says between your fingers. You smile at him, grateful he found a way with words so you’re not repeating the same old goodbyes.

“See you soon, Roger”, you say, hugging him again for a few seconds, just trying to capture every detail - his smell, the feeling of his arms around you, his body against yours.

And once he has to go into the jet, you go to the glass wall, and you can swear you see some familiar faces from the windows of the jet.

But before you can focus, soon Roger’s well known face takes over the window you’re watching, and he puts a hand on the glass.

You can’t help but think about the last time you did that with him, him being on your place as you were inside the plane, moving to another country, your heart weighing down on you, filled with doubts.

But now your heart warmed you up, filled with joy and love, and you could feel Roger’s crystal heart on top of your chest. He was right. There would be always a piece of him on you, too.

-

**Epilogue: News of the World Launch Party**

“Y/N! You’re back!” Brian’s voice welcomed you to the ballroom.

You squeezed Roger’s hand - it was the first time you saw the band in years, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous about it.

“Darling, you’re really back! We thought Roger was getting high too often and hallucinated a week in Paris with you. But I guess you did come back to him”, Freddie said, hugging you by the side as he held a glass of champagne on his other hand.

“I’m back with him only so I can see you all again, of course”, you said, winking at Roger as he pretended to be offended.

But then you heard Deacy and Veronica scream your name in unison, and you turned to see them.

“So you’re really back!!” Deacy said, but your eyes were on the baby boy on his lap.

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”, you said, trying to get his attention. Roger looked at you, adoringly, as you moved your eyes to Veronica.

“Ronnie!! You’re so big!” you said, trying to hug her through her belly. “It’s coming out in a few months! It’s a boy, Michael. Someone our young Rob can play with”, she said, and Roger frowned.

“I could swear it was a girl”, he said, and John smiled. “Maybe next time”, he said.

“Hey, Bob. Do you want to play with me? C'mon”, you said, and he motioned to go to your arms. You picked him up as he started playing with your hair.

“You’d be a good mom, Y/N”, Veronica said, and you got tense. “God, Ronnie, don’t even joke about this”, you said, and Roger chuckled. “It’s a sensitive topic at the moment”, he explained.

“The moment will take quite some time, you know”, you told him, the youngest Deacon pulling your earring before playing with the crystal heart on your neck.

You talked to the boys and Veronica for a while, updating each other, but no one brought up how you and Roger got back together. It just felt natural - no need to question.

You stayed with Roger for the whole night - behind the cameras as he did press, by his side during dinner - where he was back at his old ways, teasing you lightly with his hand under the table. You felt good in his arms, getting back into his life.

He was interested in getting back into your life, too. He came back to London last night, and went straight to dinner with you. You were trying different food, and now was time to try Indian food.

As he ate his Chicken Tikka Masala, dipping the naan in the sauce, you invited him for a party your bosses would be throwing next month to celebrate a new exhibit.

He gave you a bright smile. “I’d love to be your date, my love”, he said.

And after the Deacons went home - Robert was asleep on his father’s lap - the party got louder, the dance floor more full. You could swear you saw an angular face that could only belong to Bowie pick someone to dance - was this Princess Leia? - but before you could process the whole situation, Roger pulled you to dance.

“Thought you didn’t dance, Mr Taylor”, you told him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tried to slow dance to All The Young Dudes, by Mott The Hoople.

“I don’t dance very well, indeed. But it’s just an excuse to be so close to you in public, and God, I’m dying to call you Ms Taylor”, he said, and you chuckled.

“Take it slower, Rog”, you told him, and he leaned in to rest his head on the curve of your neck. “And why do you want to be close to me in public? Is it still one of your weird fetishes?”, you joked, and you felt him laugh against your skin.

“No, it’s just that you’ve been killing me with this dress of yours, and you’ve been killing a lot of the guys here, too. Could swear I saw Bowie checking you out”, he told you, and you gasped.

“Taylor, don’t even joke about this. I’d have a heart attack”, you said, and he laughed. “You’d leave me here for Bowie, is that it?”, he asked, and you laughed.

“Of course not. I just have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he might acknowledge my existence”, you said, and it was his turn to laugh. “The only eyes I really like to feel on me when I look away are yours, Rog”, you said, and he gave you a quick kiss.

“Okay, had enough of trying to dance. Let’s get some fresh air”, he told you, and you followed him to the balcony.

As the cold, fresh air brushed against your exposed skin, you heard the first notes to Tiny Dancer, by Elton John. You walked to the balcony, leaning in and taking in the view of London at night.

Roger soon took you into his arms, hugging you from behind, and you felt safe, his body heart making you warm in the cold evening as he jokingly whispered  _“Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you’ll marry a music man”_  into your ear, and you scoffed. “Slower, Taylor”, you told him, and he laughed.

“However you want it, babe”, he said, now paying attention to the view, focusing on the feeling on you in his arms again.  _Finally._

_But oh how it feels so real_

_Lying here with no one near_

_Only you and you can hear me_

_When I say softly, slowly_

“I could die right now, Y/N. I’m just… happy. I’ve never felt this type of happiness before. I’m just exactly where I want to be”, Roger said in his husky voice, and you nodded lightly in agreement.

Because in Roger’s arms, you feel home. You feel what you hoped to feel for years - what got you to move to London in the first place. You feel like you belong.


	22. 1988 Special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is not even a real chapter??? i mean, it doesn’t have a number - it’s really a reallll epilogue, you really get to know what happen in the eleven years that follow the end of the story. this wasn’t really on my outline - i just kept thinking about the characters cause theyre SO CUTE and DESERVE THE BEST and im an absolute softie so i couldnt help but write this. its probably a bit messy cause im tired atm but im happy i wrote this and i want to share it with you guys already.  
> im curious to know what you guys think about it! - also, just making it clear, there’s no story for a sequel, so there’s no sequel coming. just so you guys know. thanks again for stopping by and reading my story and being AMAZING. im a bit rusty i guess so sorry about the size of the chapter

[ ](http://blondecarfucker.tumblr.com/)

[blondecarfucker](http://blondecarfucker.tumblr.com/post/183089092819/bed-of-roses-1988-special)

Bed of Roses (1988 Special)

**Roger Taylor x Reader  
BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader**

[Originalmente publicado por rogerstaylor](https://tmblr.co/Z-ltcY2gVMy3h)

 

**Fic Summary** : It’s 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.

**Fic Note** : So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages. If this is your first time stumbling upon Bed of Roses, thank you for stopping by! The rest of the story is in my masterlist, the link is in my bio - can’t put the link here or else the post will disappear from the tags.

**Chapter’s notes** : so this is not even a real chapter??? i mean, it doesn’t have a number - it’s really a reallll epilogue, you really get to know what happen in the eleven years that follow the end of the story. this wasn’t really on my outline - i just kept thinking about the characters cause theyre SO CUTE and DESERVE THE BEST and im an absolute softie so i couldnt help but write this. its probably a bit messy cause im tired atm but im happy i wrote this and i want to share it with you guys already.  
im curious to know what you guys think about it! - also, just making it clear, there’s no story for a sequel, so there’s no sequel coming. just so you guys know. thanks again for stopping by and reading my story and being AMAZING. im a bit rusty i guess so sorry about the size of the chapter

**Words** : around 2.8k

 

 

**1988**

You heard Roger hitting the drums as you opened the studio door.

“Hey, Y/N”, Freddie said, coming to hug you. “It’s your man recording”, he told you, and you nodded.

“I see”, you answer, and Jim comes closer to Freddie and says hello to you. You really like the way they feel at ease with each other - it just looks natural. It’s been long ever since you saw Freddie so peaceful.

But Roger soon showed up in your field of vision, having just left the recording booth. “Babe, it’s so good to see you”, he said, hugging you by the waist. “Good seeing you too, Rog. What are you guys recording?, you ask, and Deacy answers.

"It’s ‘Rain Must Fall’, just wrote it with Freddie”, he says, as Freddie listens to Roger’s recording.

“It’s still not right”, he says, and Roger sighs. “Be right back”, he tells you, going inside the booth.

Now that you’re paying attention, you realize it’s latin percussion. “This is really nice”, you tell Freddie, and he smiles. “Thanks, darling. How’s the museum? Did it fall apart after you spent a month away?”, he asked, and you laughed.

“Actually, they’ve been holding up quite nicely”, you say, referring to the period you’ve just spent with them in Montreux. “They’re getting used to it, I suppose”, and he nods.

You and Roger have been taking turns the last decade on who’s gonna spend time along with the other, but now, after you’ve got your PhD and was promoted to Senior Curator, your job could be done without official office hours, so you’ve been following Roger around a bit more - which is nice, especially when he’s in Montreux, such a calm place you thought about retiring there, in the future.

“And this outfit, too, I love it. You look like such a serious business woman” Jim said, pointing to your tailleur. “I have to look the part, Jim”, you shrug, and Brian laughs. “I miss your yellow Chuck Taylors days, Y/N”, he says, and you laugh. “These shoes are killing me, so I do, too”, you tell him.

“I won’t invite you to dance, then”, Freddie said, and you frowned. “Please do, Freddie. You know how I love these latin inspired songs of yours”, you pouted, and Freddie laughed, extending a hand to you.

You could feel Roger’s eyes watching you through the glass as you danced with Freddie. Rain Must Fall reminded you of Cool Cat, and even though the Hot Space days, in 1981 were complicated, it reminded you of an afternoon with Roger on a yacht on Lake Geneva, the two of you drinking mimosas and sunbathing as Montreux glimmed under the Riviera sun.

“God, I hate this fucking song”, Roger said, sipping on his mimosa.

“It’s not the best”, you agreed, and he laughed.

“This fucking album, I swear to God. If it wasn’t for you here, I would’ve dropped this”, he said, and you got up to prepare another mimosa for you.

“Don’t say that, Rog. You wouldn’t drop the band”, you said, and he sighed.

“You’re right. But I would drop this album, though. This song, even - I didn’t take part in anything regarding the production. I just watched, like you watch a car crash”, he says, and it’s your turn to laugh.

“You’re so dramatic”, you tell him, mixing the orange juice and the champagne. “But seriously, babe. Do you even like the songs we’re making now?”, he asks, and you take a sip of your drink.

“I like Under Pressure”, you say, and you’re happy to see his face lighten up as he laughs. “Of course you do. I’m impressed you didn’t ask Bowie for an autograph yet”, he said, and you laugh along. “I have to stop myself from fangirling every time he’s around, you know. It’s pretty hard, but I do my best not to embarass you”, you told him, sitting by his side.

His sun kissed skin made his eyes even brighter than usual - like lapis lazuli on bronze.

“Like I try not to embarrass you by looking stupid when we’re on one of your fancy dinners?”, he asks, hugging you by the side. “Exactly”, you told him, pressing a quick kiss on his lips. He tasted like orange.

As you now kept dancing with Freddie, Jim pulled Deacy for a dance too, and eventually everyone was dancing to Roger’s percussion. Each had a different level of success, and you were trying to help Brian when Roger finished his part.

It made you happy to have moments like this. After A Kind Of Magic, in 1986, the band was fighting constantly - it made you sad to see such thing. Roger even created a side band, The Cross, and he worked with them for a while before reuniting with Queen for this new album.

You were always a huge fan of his solo work, but you never connected with The Cross - and you felt like he didn’t, either. They never really challenged him, and anything only gets better after receiving honest feedback.

But now Freddie wanted to produce again with the rest of the band - as much as they could, non-stop. They wouldn’t even tour after this album, The Miracle. You felt like Roger knew exactly why these changes happened, but he didn’t share them with you. You didn’t really mind - it was not only his privacy, but the privacy of the rest of the band members. The fact that he was trustworthy enough to keep his friend’s reasoning behind a polemic decision private only made you love him more.

“Babe”, Roger called, walking over to you. You hugged him, his known smell now more refined, cologne mixed with the patchouli and substituting the cigarette smoke - you both quitted smoking, since you heard it could be harmful for little ones.

“The kids are with their nanny, right?” Rog asked you, and you nodded.

It was 1982 when you realized you couldn’t keep your breakfast - you vomited every morning, almost religiously, twenty minutes after you ate.

Roger was immediately concerned on the phone - you spent two weeks in Mexico for work, and it was only when Roger spent a weekend there at the end of your trip that he told you not to drink the tap water. So you were both convinced you had some parasite, and Roger took you to a doctor - he liked to spend time with you when you were both in London, even in boring activities, since you still lived in separate flats, always trying to take it slow - even though you felt like a teenager when you had to pack to stay a weekend at your boyfriend’s house - and you considered talking to Roger about moving in together again.

The doctor soon realized there were no parasites inside you, but there was a baby - a 3 months old little boy, in fact, as the doctor confirmed after taking you two to the ultrasound room.

You could never forget Roger’s face once he understood what the doctor told the two of you. He was going to be a father.

But the realization that you were going to be a mother took a little longer to hit you. It was only when you heard the baby’s heartbeat that you really understood what was going on inside you - a baby. Your baby. Roger’s baby.

Proof that you were together, proof that you belonged to each other, that you loved each other.

“This is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard”, Roger told you, and you smiled in agreement.

Nine months later, Apollo was born.

You agreed on Apollo because you always thought about how Roger reminded you of Apollo, and it did remind you of New York, too - the Apollo Theater was a landmark only a couple dozens streets above the apartment you grew up in.

But Apollo was much more like you than he was like his dad. He inherited his dad’s dirty blonde curls, but his eyes were just like yours, and so was his personality - he was very determined, liked to be alone, and a full blown nerd. He taught himself to read when he was four, and now, at age 6, he liked to read The Hobbit by himself.

He didn’t speak with an English accent, oddly enough, even though he was raised in London - he spoke water like his dad, but copied your accent in every other word.

Roger would hold him and hug him and always spend time with “his little guy”, always telling him how proud he is to be the father of a genius, and Apollo’s cheeks would be flushed pink, just like yours did when Roger told you how smart you are.

When Apollo was born, you both agreed to move in together into a big family home, but you filled the walls with artwork and tapestry, and Roger made sure there was always good music playing - it didn’t feel like you were abandoning your old selves to become parents; it felt like a natural step.

And for financial reasons - mostly to protect Apollo and to make taxes easier - you and Roger decided to get married. He tried to play the practical part, reaffirming marriage was just a title and the two of you were way beyond that, but you knew, deep down, that he was incredibly happy to get on his knees and propose.

It was a simple ceremony in 1984 - close friends and family under the hawaiian sunset, the Lana'i Island’s atmosphere made you feel like you were in a dream. With a simple cotton white dress, you reunited with Roger - in a half open, white cotton button up - in front of a licensed marriage performer, and you became Ms Taylor.

Roger used any excuse to call you Ms Taylor, savoring the name on his tongue just like he did with your lips on honeymoon.

Apollo was 2, and stayed with his grandparents for a week as the two of you enjoyed your honeymoon on paradise. “It’s funny how this is like, the millionth time I feel like I’m on honeymoon with you”, you tell Roger, and he pouts. “If you consider honeymoon everytime we go somewhere amazing alone and keep fucking like teenagers, then yeah. But this is special. This feels more… I don’t know. Official”, he said, and you agreed.

And all that young love had a result - you soon found out you got pregnant again after a routine blood test. Roger was, again, the happiest man on Earth.

You felt calmer this time around - a kid and responsibilities didn’t ruin your relationship with Roger the first time around, and you were actually pretty good parents.

So when Live Aid came about, you were huge - you enjoyed the many performances, but when Queen was onstage, it felt different. You could remember when, almost fifteen years ago, you saw these guys broke, rehearsing and travelling around in a van.

Now they were here, and in a day filled with performances from stars, they shined the brightest.

You don’t know if it was all the emotions you felt watching them, but once you finally got home, the sun about to rise - Apollo long asleep - you sat down to prepare a warm bath for the two of you, but you felt something warm running down your legs. Your water broke.

You and Roger ran to the Hospital, and after a few hours, Artemis was born.

She screamed, not cried, once she first looked at you and Roger, almost annoyed - like she was sad she missed the show.

Artemis was a logical name choice - Apollo’s twin in greek mythology - but the kid also got her strong will. She looked just like her father, big, round blue eyes and pink, full lips soon learned to express what she desired and complained when things seemed wrong in her perspective.

At the early age of three and with a reduced vocabulary, she convinced the two of you to get the smallest drum set you could find, and she tried to repeat her fathers movements on it, still too small for her tiny kit, but proud of the loud noises she made, hitting it recklessly.

Roger looked at it as if he was seeing a miracle.

The kids were raised primarily in London, but they spent some time in Montreux, when the band was recording, under their father’s care, or on tour when you could stay with them - tour made the kids so confused about their whereabouts that it needed a conjoined effort - but now that the band was recording in London with no plans for long periods away, it was going to be interesting.

Apollo was just getting started in school, and soon it would be Artemis turn. They still had no dimension of their fathers - or their “uncles” - importance, but you and Roger talked about this, waiting for the day you’d have to explain your life for the kids, who you were before you were their parents.

You wondered if Apollo would think back on the time he went to dad’s work and he was dressed as a woman - he couldn’t recognize Roger when he was Rogerina while recording the video for I Want To Break Free until he took his wig off.

It was a better reaction than John’s kids had, screaming in fear of the old, scary and tall lady that tried to pick them up.

The latest video recording was incredibly sweet, actually - it was for The Miracle, the single, and the band was going to be interpreted by 11 year olds. The kid that played Freddie was absolutely brilliant, mimicking all of his signature moves.

But it was the kid that played Roger who stole your heart.

As you watched the tiny Rog rehearse, you couldn’t help but imagine Artemis hitting her drums - maybe in a few years, she’d be able to actually play something.

You also thought about Apollo, how he’d look like an even younger version of Roger if he was sitting on the stool, bouncing his curls and pouting in concentration.

You really loved the life you lived now, and when you looked back to all the drama that went between you and Roger so you could get here - two happy, fully realized people; and two great parents - you’d do it all again.

You kept thinking about it as the kid rehearsed Roger’s part in the song, until you felt a familiar smell fill the air around you, and an arm snaking around your waist.

“Hello, beautiful stranger. Are you lost?”, Roger whispered, his husky voice still able to give you chills.

“I am, actually. I can’t find my husband, and I came here just to see him before work”, you said.

“How did he get so lucky to have you?”, he asks, and you turn around to kiss him.

“Actually, I’m his good luck charm”, you say, pulling him closer to you.

He was ready for the shoot, so you felt bad when you broke the kiss and realized you transfered part of your lipstick to his lips.

“Shit, your makeup artist is going to kill me”, you say, trying to wipe it away.

“It’s fine”, he says, kissing you again. “So I’m picking Apollo from school today, right?”, he confirmed, and you nodded. It would always amaze you how you found your own level of responsibility, of the feared and dreaded domesticity, without losing the passion you had for each other.  _Taking it slow_.

But now, back in the studio, you said goodbye to everyone, and followed Roger to a limo.

You always had your nights out - nights where you’d stay in a fancy hotel room just for the sake of being together in different ambiances. You two learned from your trip to Paris how it makes you more in love with each other, the new place making you fonder of what you know and love - in your case, Roger.

So when he popped open a bottle of champagne while you undressed, and once you were only in your lingerie, Roger took his own shirt off, knowing to pass it to you - a ritual, really.

You both went out, relaxed and comfortable, and enjoyed the view.

The Thames was below you, and you could see the entire city - if you tried, you could point where the bar you first met was, and Kensington Marked, and the first flat you shared. London was a huge part of your story.

“Let’s make a toast”, Roger said, and you nodded. “To what?”, you asked, but you knew the answer.

You’ve been together for almost twenty years, now, so it’s normal for you to know what to expect from Roger. But it doesn’t feel boring - it feels like home.

“Us”, he says.


End file.
